


the mystery of love

by xivz



Series: under the wind [1]
Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Baz centric, Bittersweet, Boys In Love, Break Up, Idiots in Love, Italy, M/M, Pining Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Post-Book 2: Wayward Son, Post-Break Up, Romance, Texting, University, Why Did I Write This?, supportive friends, they're doing their best
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-14
Updated: 2019-11-19
Packaged: 2021-01-30 19:15:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 22,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21433318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xivz/pseuds/xivz
Summary: Basilton Grimm-Pitch is in Rome for the school year as a part of an exchange program. He’s heartbroken and far from home. He’s trying his best to move on and live life as a normal University student. (As normal as one can be when one is both a mage and a vampire.)And things should get easier, right? Only, Simon Snow keeps texting him.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch & Simon Snow, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Series: under the wind [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1610725
Comments: 77
Kudos: 303





	1. July, August & September

**Author's Note:**

> Big thank you to **[Kattlupin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kattlupin/pseuds/Kattlupin)** for being an amazing beta. 
> 
> DISCLAIMER: I have never been to Italy.

**JULY **

**BAZ**

I had applied to a transfer program on a whim, it’s just for the next year. I’m majoring in finance but my linguistic scores are staggeringly high. (Naturally.) My counselor had encouraged me to apply for the foreign exchange program to Rome. It’s a nine-month program, beginning in September and ending in July, it’ll take up my entire second year of Uni. I’m nervous, I can recognize that emotion well. In my hand is the thick envelope with the acceptance letter from LSE. 

I got in. 

My classes have been set, in Italy. _ I got in _ . I’m ecstatic, overjoyed in a devastatingly _ good _way. This is exciting. My father has been the only person who was aware that I applied (he was surprisingly supportive of it too), and now Fiona knows - she’s opened a bottle of wine to celebrate and tells me that we ought to go look at flats to lease for the next year. It’s not as if I lack the money to afford one if I don’t want to live on campus. Although I don’t mind living on campus, but I also want to live in a shitty studio above a miscellaneous shop and immerse myself in the culture as deeply as I can.

The issue is that I haven’t told anyone else. Not Bunce, not Shepard, not Snow. 

Fuck.

We had returned from our American trip relatively unscathed. Watford had not been on fire, but Penelope’s mother almost put us on the pyre for our antics. Everything that happened in Nebraska trended on social media. It was bad. We were fined but the charges had been pressed and promptly dropped. Money exchanged hands and we were given nothing more than a slap on the wrist for what we did. Thankfully, it could have been so much worse.

Now it’s July and I have an acceptance letter to Italy in my hand.

_ I got in_. My mind can’t seem to wrap itself around this. I’m going to Italy. To Rome. There is no doubt about it, it would be idiotic to not go, it’d be an opportunity which would look good on my transcripts and my future resumes. 

It takes me several days after receiving the letter to gather the courage to go to Snow’s and Bunce’s flat. I used to stop by here more often when school was in session, but since returning from our trip abroad I haven’t seen much of either. I can’t help but wonder if Simon and I are even dating anymore, the words haven’t been said aloud but the impending doom of it all being over is. I’ve steered clear of him, and he hasn’t made an effort to reach out. I can’t help but wonder if our time in the back of Shepard’s pickup truck was our final goodbye. 

As it is, I let myself in with the spare key. I’ll need to return it to Penelope. 

Penny is in the kitchen making lunch. She glances over at the door and a large smile breaks across her face. “Basil!”

“Hello,” I say, “I hope it’s alright that I’ve dropped in unannounced.”

There was a time when I would walk in as if I lived here too. Where I would haunt their doorway day and night and left the neighbors curious as to who I was. It’s been months since then, and now I feel like a stranger in a place that I once considered my second home. 

“You can drop in any time,” Penny says, “I’m making stir-fry for lunch, do you want some?”

“No,” my stomach is too knotted to even consider food, “I’ve come to talk to you about something. Is Snow in?”

Penny nods, “Simon’s in his room.”

“And the American?” I ask, knowing that he was currently living on the sofa. The three of them have been discussing moving into a larger flat - well, Penny and Shepard have. Simon has just gone with whatever they decided. 

“At my parents' house,” Penny says. “What’s this about? It must be important if you came over here instead of texting.”

I mosey into the kitchen and lean against the counter, and watch as Penny saute the vegetables in the wok. It smells divine. 

I shift my gaze toward the kitchen sink. Surprisingly there are no dishes in it. This place is typically a cesspool of germs with disgustingly crusted plates. I can’t help but wonder who drew the short straw with the chores or if Penelope magicked it all clean. 

“I had applied to a foreign exchange program before our adventures in America,” I say carefully. 

“And you got in?” Penny’s voice is soft, but tilting upward. When I turn to look at her she’s beaming up at me, “for how long? Where?”

I can’t help but return her smile, my heart swelling with affection, “Rome. Nine months. I’ll be leaving at the end of August to get settled in, and I’ll be returning by next July.”

“Oh that sounds wonderful,” Penny says. I can tell that she wants to hug me, but she doesn’t want to take too much of her attention away from the food - she’s just properly learned how to cook edible meals. Although it takes a lot of effort from her. “I’m so happy for you, Baz.”

“Thank you,” I nod. I’m trying not to pick at my cuticles or mess with my hair. I’ve kept my face relatively passive as I gear up for the question that I know is on her mind. She’s bound to ask it soon, once she’s realized exactly what I said. Yes, she’s no doubt happy for me. Yes, she more than likely means it when she says it’s exciting. But - 

Penelope glances up at me from over her cat-eye glasses, her brown eyes narrowed. “Does Simon know?” 

Her voice is low. Typically she’s not one for tact, she doesn’t usually understand the need and would easily just bull through something and let everyone else deal with their emotions later. Except things went to shit in America. Such shit. And Simon hasn’t exactly been Simon for months. Penelope hasn’t been herself recently either, not since Micah had called things off with her. 

I shake my head, too afraid to say the words. 

“Oh Baz,” Penny tuts. She shakes her head and then sighs loudly. “Well, he’s in his room, if you want to go in there.”

“Would he even notice if I decide to accept the program?” I can’t help but ask bitterly. Would he realize that I’ve gone? Honestly?

“He loves you,” Penny says. 

Right. _ Love_. He loves me enough to ignore me, to push me away. To treat me like, like, I don’t know. I’m unhappy here, in London. And Simon Snow is unhappy with _ me _. (He’s unhappy with life, but I’m a particular sore spot.) He may think that he loves me, but he doesn’t even know what his sexual orientation is. Not that it matters. Not that I’d want to push him into anything he’s uncomfortable with - it makes me wonder, is that what I’m doing with this relationship? Has this been one-sided the entire time?

I lean forward and press a soft kiss to Penny’s temple and then leave the kitchen without another word.

Snow’s door is closed but I can smell him through the thin wood. Thick caramel, buttery popcorn, a hint of dissipated smoke. I can hear his heart beating and his breathing, he’s awake and moving, he’s in there alone. I swallow uselessly and knock on his bedroom door. I’ve never knocked on his door before, ever. Not until about five months ago, when we had a passive-aggressive row about privacy. (Privacy! Us! We lived together our entire bloody childhoods.) So I knock and check the handle before letting myself in. 

Simon is sitting on his bed, a book opened on his lap and his gaze already at the threshold of his bedroom, watching me as I wait. I don’t fully come in, I can’t seem to bring myself to. I’m terrified. 

His blue eyes drink me in. He doesn’t close his book, he doesn’t shift aside to make room for me. He doesn’t move at all. 

“Snow,” I greet, but he’s not uttering a single word. 

Simon swallows and licks his lips. He looks better, at least he looks as if he’s showered recently. There are no empty cider cans and his room looks as if it’s been recently cleaned. Or as clean as it would be when one’s owner is Simon Snow. 

I sigh, dejection already settling in and causing my shoulders to slump. I’m tired. I’m tired of this between us, the constant tugging and pulling and our utter lack of communication. I love Simon, I’d do anything for him, I’d light myself on fire or defang myself. I’d snap my wand. But it’s hard to love someone who makes it so obvious that they don’t want to love you.

I can see that he wants to say something, probably asking me what I’m doing here. (What am I doing here?) I told Penelope my news and that should be enough. She’d tell Snow eventually. That would be the wrong way to go about this. Instead, I take in a deep breath and fully enter the room, firmly closing the door behind me. I don’t move from my spot by the door, however, I can’t sit down, I can’t handle being in the same space as Simon. It hurts. 

  
  


**SIMON**

“We need to talk,” Baz says, and I knew this was going to happen. I knew he was going to break up with me, I’m too fucked up for him not to realize he could do better. I had tried to break up with him first, to let him go and be free, but I’m a selfish prick. I just wanted more time to call him mine, I wanted more time to look at him.

I avert my eyes from him. He’s beautiful. I brace myself for what I’m going to inevitably hear. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

“I,” Baz takes in a shuddering breath and lets out a heavy sigh. 

He’s never been one to be shite at words. I want to open my mouth and say ‘_ when someone shows you who they are, believe them_.’ I want to give my speech, the one that I’ve prepared for our breaking up weeks ago. But now I can’t, all words are escaping me. 

“I,” Baz starts again and I chance a look at him. He’s staring down at his feet. “I was accepted into a foreign exchange program for this upcoming school year.”

“Oh,” I say. _ Oh_, I feel. That’s not what I expected at all. When did he apply to that? Did he tell me about it? How did I not know he wanted to do something like that? Of course, he was accepted, he’s Baz. He’s good at everything that he puts his mind to. 

“It’s for nine months, in Rome,” Baz presses on. He’s nervous, I can tell by the way he’s not looking at me, the way he’s allowing his hair to almost cover his face from me, the way he has his hands pressed firmly against my bedroom door. 

_ Oh _. It’s starting to sink in. He’s leaving London. He’ll be going to Rome for nearly the next year. 

I’ve been a terrible boyfriend to him. He should be happy about this, he should be kissing me and we should be celebrating the fact that he was accepted into what’s surely a difficult program to get into. He should have told me about it, should have mentioned it to me. I don’t know if I would have listened to him. Maybe he did tell me and I just didn’t give him any attention. When was the last time he had my undivided attention? America. The back of Shepard’s pickup, cocooned together in a sleeping bag, under a sky full of stars. 

“Ok,” I nod. “Congratulations.”

I wince at the way my voice sounds. The words feel sour as they hit the air and I bite my lower lip. It’s not how I wanted them to come out. I want to be happy for Baz, but being happy is out of my range. But I can’t even pretend? 

Baz nods. 

“So,” I say, unsure of myself and my heart catching in my throat. “So we should break up then, right?”

Baz closes his eyes tightly, his face pinches and I feel worse than I already did. All I do is hurt him. He’s telling me something wonderful that’s happening to him, and I’m just messing it up. I’m the bloody Humdrum. I take all of his happiness out of him and leave him with nothing but misery. 

I want to cry, Baz is leaving for the next year. He’ll probably meet an Italian bloke who’ll treat him the way he deserves to be treated. He’ll probably forget all about me. I won’t blame him if he did. I’m not memorable, not anymore. I’ll be that guy he used to fight when he was in school. I’m unimportant.

“Is that what you want?” He sounds tired. I made him that way. He used to fight me, he used to glare and spit rage and fire and be so _ alive _. 

“I - I mean, I don’t want - that is,” I’m stammering. This is the most we’ve spoken in over a week. It’s my fault, I’ve pushed him so far out of arm's reach that I can’t save it. I can’t bring him back again, no matter how badly I want to. And I want to. I want Baz more than anything in the world. I sigh and try to start over, licking my lips and closing my eyes for a moment before opening them and looking over at him. His eyes meet mine and we stare at each other for a long moment. “I think, for the sake of your happiness, that we should.”

My voice sounds calmer than I feel. Confident in a way I’ve not felt in nearly a year. 

I can see it. The moment I break his heart, the chasm in his mask, the way he balls his hands into fists and rests all of his weight on the door. I see how he swallows and nods, then does it again. The way he resigns himself to this and accepts this for what it is - he was expecting it. He knew that this was how it was going to end. We didn’t go up in flames, we went out. 

  
  
  


**BAZ**

“Right,” I say and clear my throat. I don’t wipe at my face, because there are no tears. Not here, not in front of him. This all feels rather anticlimactic. It’s not at all how I expected us to end. (I didn’t want us to ever end.) “Right.”

“Baz,” Simon starts, but he allows my name to hang in the heavy air. He’s tugging at his curls now, book forgotten. “It’s not that - I just think -”

I snort cruelly, “since when do _ you _think?”

It’s the wrong thing to say. I know it is, but I can’t help it. He just broke up with me. I knew he was going to, that he’s been thinking about it for weeks. I should have been better prepared for it. I know he’s tired of me. I’m too clingy, I suppose that I ask for too much (I just want to be loved, but I suppose _ that’s _too much for the emotionally constipated Simon Snow.)

Simon juts his chin at me, but there’s no heat in his gaze. “It’s better this way. For you.”

“For me?” I echo. 

“Yes!” Simon says, “I don’t want - I just - Baz. I don’t want you to feel like I’m holding you back from - from experiencing things. From meeting people, and enjoying yourself. I’m a fucking black cloud that looms over you! It’s - it’s - it’s not fair to you!”

His face is flushed but his eyes are steeled. 

I love him. The words are in my mouth, but what would be the point? Simon is a stubborn son of a bitch, and if he says he wants to break up, there was no point in reasoning with him. And a part of me, a miniscule piece, agrees with him.

There isn’t enough blood in me for my face to heat up the way it wants to. I can feel it, I’d be flushed with anger or resentment or sadness. I’d be a plethora of emotions that are easy to read if I were human. 

“Most of this relationship hasn’t been fair to me, Snow,” I say, and I can taste the bitterness dripping off of each word. “Why now? What makes now different?”

Why am I fighting this?

Simon looks as if I’ve slapped him. His mouth is open and his brows are raised and his eyes are shining with tears. He was always the crybaby between us. When we were younger, it was a terrible game I’d play - how long will it take to make Snow cry. It used to enrage me as well as fascinated me. He shows his emotions so easily. 

His tail is thrashing on his sheets and his wings are fluttering. 

“I,” Simon says, “was going to end things before we went to America.”

I close my eyes and all of the fight that was beginning to well up inside me is instantly gone. It’s as if someone said **Make A Wish** on my rage. The kisses in the bed of the pickup were truly our goodbye then. I haven’t touched him since, not since he slept on my lap due to blood loss - and that doesn’t count. 

I laugh humorlessly, “what was the point of all of this? What was I to you? Just a little experiment? _ You _ kissed _ me _. You’re the one who -” I promptly cut myself off.

My happily ever after wasn’t what I pictured it to be. Being with Simon wasn’t the erotic gropefest that I had hoped, but it wasn’t good either. Not really. Not when things finally settled and he realized what had happened. Especially not when he stopped going to therapy. I fumble with the doorknob, I need to leave. 

“Baz,” Simon’s voice is strained. 

I say, “I should be happy, this should have been a good day.”

Simon looks stricken, “I’m sorry.”

“I’m going to Rome,” I repeat. As if he’ll care. As if it matters. But this solidifies my decision if nothing else, I need to get away from him. I love him, but he hurts me. Love shouldn’t hurt this much. It shouldn’t leave me feeling as if my heart has been shattered into pieces so small and jagged that they’d be impossible to piece back together. 

“Go to Rome,” Simon says. “Live your life, Baz.”

“I don’t need your permission for that,” I snap. I manage to paste on my nastiest sneer. I’ll go and find a dozen men who look just like him and break all of their hearts. 

“Baz,” Simon’s eyes are entirely too sad, and I’m done. I’m done with this scene, with London, with Simon fucking Snow. I’ve tried. I’ve given him all that I am, and what did it get me in return? I shouldn’t feel as if Simon is breaking me. Has broken me. Has taken what little humanity I have and twisted it until there’s nothing left of me but a bloodless corpse. 

I shake my head and leave his bedroom. 

Penny is serving lunch into three separate plates, but I begin to move past her and then stop, remembering that I have her spare key. 

I reach into my pocket and take my keyring out, with ease I take the spare off and place it on the table before her. 

She stares at it with wide eyes, “Baz?”

“I’d like to see you before I leave,” I say to her, keeping my voice level. I know that Snow can hear me, I left his door wide open. “I’ll text you when.”

“Yeah,” Penny breathes, “yes, yeah, of course.”

Simon is in the hallway, but I don’t want to see him again. I don’t want to hear his voice or smell his stupidly delicious scent. I can’t do this to myself. I’m leaving the country just to get away from him. Without a glance in his direction, I open the front door and let myself out of his life. 

* * *

**AUGUST **

**BAZ**

“This one is shit,” Fiona remarks with a bored expression on her face. 

Sapienza - Università di Roma is a lovely campus. The apartments and flats surrounding it aren’t the worst. They seem like standard student housing to me, I don’t want to be too far from campus since I don’t have a mode of transportation other than the bus. I’d like something close enough that I can walk to both the shops and my classes - and maybe close enough to the butchers so that I can buy blood weekly and not fully starve. 

My father is agreeing with Fiona, and that’s a first, so the flat must be terrible. It _ is _a bit shit, it needs a lot of work, and it’s at the tail end of my budget. Being here makes me realize that perhaps living on campus may not be the most terrible decision. 

I need to be moved in by the end of the month. I’ve less than a week to find a place to settle into before September hits and classes begin. I’ve been busy this month, so busy that I almost didn’t make it to my own going away party that Dev threw for me at the beginning of August. 

Bunce had forced Snow to attend, when I saw him she tutted at me, stating that this would be the last time for several months that we would see each other. Which wasn’t the entire truth, we’re still mutuals on social media. For me, it’ll be as easy as looking at his Instagram for updates (which hardly happen at all). I have photos on my phone still, selfies and candids alike. I want to upload them all into the cloud but I can’t bring myself to delete any of them off of my phone yet. 

I didn’t speak a word to Simon throughout the entire party. I drank, I laughed and spoke to just about all of my guests. Some of whom were friends from LSE, a majority of them hadn’t even known that I had a boyfriend so some were making jokes about me finally meeting someone in Italy. Which, admittedly, stung. 

I remember Snow helping me get into bed that night, I drank too much. I never drink like that, I hate not being in complete control of myself at all times. But that night I threw caution to the wind and took shots and drank whatever people were passing me. It would be my last party in London for a year, and I was mending a broken heart. 

I don’t remember how I got home, but I remember Bunce opening the door to Fiona’s empty flat and Snow practically carrying me to bed. He tucked me in that night, he smoothed my hair away from my face, and he landed a soft butterfly kiss on my brow as sleep claimed me. 

“Come along, Basilton,” my father says to me, “we’re going to look at one more.”

The next one was worse than the last. We’ve been searching for nearly a week now and I’m beginning to despair. I’m ready to move into the next one we see. It doesn’t matter anymore. 

Luckily the last one for the day was perfect. It was above a bistro, the smell of coffee permeated the air, but it was better than other flats. It had a single bedroom and a single bathroom, the floors were old wood and the walls were covered in floral wallpaper. The windows stuck but opened with a forceful push and the view was of a park across the way. It was furnished, with old furniture and doilies and lace window treatments. As if someone’s grandmother had decorated it - and they probably had. There was no television, but that was fine, and there were heaters in every room. 

The best part was it was across the road from a butcher and only a few blocks walk from the school. 

“How much?” I ask our realtor in perfect Italian. 

* * *

The final week of August is a flurry of activity at the university. People are moving in and clubs set up booths for people to sign up for it. 

The exchange students are forced to join at least one school-related club. It’s a part of the program, I mill through the booths alone. I’m too pale to look as if I belong. Perhaps if I were still my initial golden-brown I’d fit, but I stick out. I’m one of the only students without a summer tan. 

My father and Fiona both returned home the day prior and I felt alone. I’ve been alone before, you don’t spend six weeks in a coffin without becoming in-tuned with your thoughts (or a little mad). Still, the feeling of homesickness is strong as I wander the booths and take in what each student was saying about their club. None of them were enticing. 

Until the smell of candied apples hits me, it’s strong and sickly sweet. It’s magic. I can feel it on my tongue and taste it in the back of my throat. There is a group of students around my age milling around a table that they’ve set up. The Magic Club was painted on a poster board, looking atrocious. But there’s no mistaking it, these people were mages. 

It’s idiotic of me to sign up for a club that’s full of mages when I’m a bloody vampire. But I can’t help it. 

The bloke who’s in charge of the club is handsome. Dark chestnut curls that he keeps wild, bright green eyes, freckles and dimples and a strong jawline. He gives me a grin bright enough to rival the sun and I allow myself to be taken in by it. 

“Hello,” his smile widens when our eyes meet, “I’m Alessandro, are you interested in joining?”

I arch a single brow at him, “perhaps. What kind of magic is typically done in this?”

Alessandro continues to smile. It’s entirely too charming and I want to punch it off of his face. Which leaves me staggering, because I haven’t been attracted to anyone other than Simon Snow in my entire life. Not like this. Not this violently. 

“It’s not lame,” Alessandro says, “nothing like Harry Potter. We don’t pretend. We learn the history of magic and we learn the importance of words. The importance of pop culture in magic, you know, things like that. It’s very educational.”

“You’re very bad at this,” I say, but I can feel a hint of a smile forming at the corner of my mouth. “Is this how you weed out the people who shouldn’t be a member?”

“Something like that,” Alessandro shrugs. But it’s such a production. The way his shoulders scrunch and his shirt bunches and stretches across his chest. He’s moving a large hand through his unruly curls now and he’s still smiling. “Join at your own will, friend.”

Something about the way he says it feels like a challenge. As if he doesn’t think I’d do it. As if he’s saying I couldn’t handle their magic club even if I wanted to. I love challenges, and I never back down from one. 

I take the pen out from my ponytail and I am the only new member to sign up that day.

“We meet up on Friday evenings,” Alessandro says to me as he hands me a tote. A tote with a bumper sticker that says ‘proteggi la tua magia’ (protect your magic) in rainbow letters along with a black planner and a white t-shirt with the word ‘magic’ in plain black lettering across the chest. “In building six in room 204.”

“What time?” I ask him as I sift through the canvas tote. There’s nothing special about it. It has a rainbow water bottle inside it as well. Brand new and smelling of cheap plastic. 

“Five,” Alessandro answers. 

He’s got a mole on his chin, just under the left side of his lower lip. It suits his face. 

“I’ll be there,” I say to him, and I can’t help the smirk that I throw at him. There are a few other members behind him, talking in hushed voices to each other. If I were to pay attention, I'd be able to hear what it was they were saying. As it is, it’s unimportant to me now. Instead, I give Alessandro one last nod and walk off. I’ve done what I was supposed to do, I’ve signed up for a club. 

A part of me wishes that I had joined football, or at least signed up for tryouts. But the university is strict about foreigners playing on the football team. It’s bollocks but I respect the rule. 

* * *

_ 28, August _

**Bunce **[21:01]: Are you settling in alright?

**Baz **[21:01]: Yes, it’s been fine. I signed up for a club, so I suppose I’m making acquaintances well.

**Bunce **[21:02]: That’s good, we were worried. 

I don’t stop and ask who ‘we’ were. It hurts too much to think about that. There’s only one person Bunce could be referring to, and I highly doubt it’s the American. 

**Bunce **[21:03]: Classes start soon, which ones are you taking this semester?

This was familiar ground. School. We text about our upcoming courses, and it’s interesting. Speaking to Penelope Bunce has always been interesting. She’s nearly as smart as I am - we’re probably equals, I just enjoy rubbing it into her face that I graduated first in the class. Which would have been a bit more difficult to achieve had she not allowed herself to fill the role of dread companion for all of those years. 

Bunce was taking classes on languages this semester. And not for the first time I’m lamenting on why I’ve decided that finance was the field that I wanted to study when language was more of my passion. 

**Bunce **[21:09]: I didn’t want to bring him up, but I feel that you should know.

My heart drops. 

**Bunce **[21:11]: Simon’s dropped out of Uni.

I let out a sigh of relief. I thought it was going to be worse than that. He could always go back to school when he was ready for it if he wanted to. He was a grown man who can make his own decisions. 

**Baz **[21:12]: Alright.

**Bunce **[21:12]: He’s taking a technical course now, to be able to get a job in something that has to use his hands more. 

**Bunce **[21:13]: I’m happy that he’s trying but also, I don’t know, education is so important!

**Baz **[21:14]: Uni isn’t for everyone. 

**Baz **[21:14]: At least he’s getting out of the flat. 

That was harsher than I intended it to be. But now that we’re no longer together, I don’t see the point in putting any effort into being nice. I sent the message and get out of bed for a drink of water and to turn the heaters on. The flat is beginning to chill, despite it being the end of the summer. It just tells me that winter was going to be brutal. Eventually, my phone buzzed again, just as I was heating some milk to fill my belly and warm me up before bed. 

**Bunce **[21:20]: You’re right.

_ Read 21:21 _

I roll my eyes but don’t bother to communicate with her that I was right. Instead, I finish my glass of milk and go to lie down. I hardly have any time to explore the area surrounding my flat or the campus, and I’d like to do both and become familiar with it before classes begin. 

I plug my phone into the charger that’s kept on the nightstand next to the bed. Like the rest of the flat, the bedroom is decorated as if someone’s 90-year-old grandmother picked everything out. But the bed is surprisingly comfortable, so I sink into it easily. 

The streetlight shines brightly into the bedroom, but it makes sleep more easily attainable. I can’t sleep in the full dark anymore, not since I was seventeen. It’s cozy and warm. I’m dozing off when my phone buzzes on the nightstand. I swear to Merlin if it’s Penny again I’m going to put a Do Not Disturb time on my phone. 

Lazily, I pick up my phone but freeze at the name I see on my screen. 

**Snow **[21:30]: You’re probably asleep.

**Baz **[21:30]: Why are you texting me?

**Snow **[21:30]: I found your old Watford football hoodie, do you want me to keep it somewhere so you can get it when you come back?

**Snow **[21:31]: <jpg.>

My hoodie is on a hanger, on the knob of his wardrobe. 

**Baz ** [21:34]: [ _ DRAFT _] I don’t bloody care about the damn thing.

That’s a lie, I love that hoodie and honestly had just forgotten it. I meant to pack it and bring it with me. A sort of security blanket. It had slipped my mind that I had left it behind in Simon’s bedroom. He seems to have found it. It probably smells of him now, his scent might be permeated in the fibers of the fabric, never to be washed out.

**Baz **[21:34]: Yes, keep it until I can come back for it. Please. Bunce can bring it with her when I see her during the holiday.

**Snow **[21:24]: Did you mean to forget it?

**Baz **[21:39]: No.

**Baz ** [21:40]: [ _ DRAFT _] You’re an idiot.

**Snow **[21:40]: Can I wear it when it gets colder?

**Baz ** [21:40]: [ _ DRAFT _] I hate you.

What the fuck is he playing at? We haven’t had a proper conversation since July, just shy of his birthday. Why is he texting me? Out of the blue? I frown at my phone and suddenly feel older than twenty. I feel as if I’ve already lived a life (and I suppose that I have). 

**Snow **[21:41]: Was that going too far? Only it’s baggy and warm. It’s really comfortable too.

**Snow **[21:42]: I can see if I can drop it off at your aunts’ if that’s an issue.

_ Read 21:45 _

I should stop texting him and go to sleep. I’ve gone this far without a word to or from him. I can’t even remember the last time we’ve sent proper texts to each other. Months ago. Probably around the same time we stopped holding hands. That was back in January, I think. 

**Baz **[21:49]: Your wings would ruin the material. 

**Snow **[21:50]: Not if Penny magics them!

I hate myself for being so weak for him. For responding. For not demanding that he immediately stop and leave me be. Just leave me alone Snow, you’ve done enough damage to me and my life. 

Would he answer if I were to demand why he’s reaching out to me? Was my jumper an excuse? The catalyst to get my attention? He needn’t go through such lengths, I’m still obsessed with him despite not wanting to think about him. I want nothing to do with Simon Snow. I should tell him, I need to tell him. 

**Baz ** [21:53]: _ typing typing typing... _

I can’t do it. I can’t tell him to go fuck himself - which is what I want to say (I really do want to tell him this, to fuck off). I want to tell him to leave me the fuck alone and to go find some other queer man to pretend to be gay with. To leave me alone. Just leave me alone, please. Maybe it's because I miss home that any interaction with someone I once knew as well as my own hand that I continue with this conversation. 

**Snow **[21:54]: Since you’re thinking, I’m going to tell you that I’m going to wear this. It’s more comfortable than the one that Agatha gave me. Warmer too.

The mention of his ex-girlfriend immediately dissipates all good-will I had been feeling toward him. 

**Baz **[21:55]: Unlike you, my classes start tomorrow, goodnight. 

My classes won’t start until the first. But he doesn't know that, and I want the comment to dig at him. I want him to know that I know what he’s up to. Which is incredibly creepy, when I think about it. I haven’t been digging for information about him. I don’t want to hear anything about his life (that’s a lie).

**Snow **[21:55]: Right, yeah, sorry. Sleep well, Baz.

_ Read 21:58 _

Sleep well? I want to throw my phone across my bedroom. But I don't because I have excellent willpower and magnificent self-restraint. Instead, I carefully set up a Do Not Disturb time of midnight until six in the morning and turn my phone screen down, plug it back in and lay there simmering angrily. 

Anger is an easier emotion to navigate. Better than the anguish or the joy that I feel. He texted me, but he did it after the fact. We’ve been over since July. It’s been several weeks. 

I rub my face and run my fingers through my hair, wanting to scream. I wish I could get away with throwing a tantrum and throwing shit. I’d like to throw something right now. The thought crosses my mind that I could flip the entire bed and magic it all back together without anyone being any the wiser. But I don’t want to do that. That’d be too much of an effort. 

Wasting any more time or energy into Simon bloody Snow is incredibly moronic of me.

I hate myself for wishing he’d send something else. I hate him for sending something to begin with. Maybe if I find random blokes to fuck it’d get him out of my system, but I doubt that. Nothing can seem to remove Simon from my thoughts, from my heart. He’s claimed a space of me and now he’s being a right git about getting out. 

With a loud sigh, I turn in bed and curl up further underneath the heavy and thick blankets trying to get to sleep. My mind. however, has other ideas. Wide blue eyes, soft bronze curls, freckles and moles and a broad chest. He was the strongest mage to ever walk the Earth, he was a knight in shining armor, he was the ultimate supervillain. He’s stupidly brave and awful with speaking what he feels. He made me feel so alive. Just when I feel as if I could move on, he has to crash into my life and remind me that he’s the lead character of the story.

I chew on my fingernail helplessly and swallow down the lump in my throat. Idiotic me, I’m still desperately in love with him, and he probably never reciprocated my feelings to begin with. It’s a struggle to fall asleep, but when I finally do it’s to dreams of golden skin and rough calloused hands.

* * *

**SEPTEMBER**

**BAZ**

The Magic Club is, in fact, a group of mages who spend their time talking about their families and practicing magic. Learning Italian spells is fascinating. The first time they meet it’s a bit awkward, they’ve known each other for years. The Italian mage community is different from the American one (of which there is none) and more similar to the Coven back home. They are more family orientated, there is one magical school in all of Italy and it’s in Rome, not too far from the university actually, and it’s doused in magic to prevent Normals from even noticing it. 

Alessandro laughed when I asked him about the Catholics and how religious the entire country seems to be. Biblical magic (which is incredibly difficult) is common here since the Catholic community is so large. I learned a few verses that were common here to use for small things, like warming up a coffee or tying my shoes. In turn, they wanted to learn more about Watford - it’s a famous magickal school - and if I could teach them any English spells. Even though none of my spells would do much use here, in a room where hardly anyone spoke English or understood the idioms. 

For the most part, it’s fun. I’m living my life as a normal university student. (As normal as one can be when one is a mage and a vampire.)

I focus intensely on my classes. They’re only more challenging because they’re in a different language. I catch on relatively easy because I’m a bloody genius and I don’t see the point of denying it. For anything that I become confused about I turn to Alessandro. He’s handsome, smart, and eloquent. I suppose he’s becoming my only friend in Italy thus far, but I’m alright with that, I hardly have more than a handful of friends back home, to begin with. He’s also extremely heterosexual and has a girlfriend who is attending a nearby school, which is fine by me because I’m not interested in forming any sort of romantic relationship. It’s too soon for me.

Daphne and my siblings call me once a week, typically on Sunday. I speak to my father then as well, and Fiona texts me sporadically. Bunce texts me daily, and even Shepard and Wellbelove send the occasional message. Things become routine. I go to my classes, participate in the club on Friday, go to the butchers and grocers on Saturday, speak to my family on Sunday. 

It’s been two weeks since that strange text strand from Snow. I try to ignore how it hurts. My heart is going to be in a permanently bruised state, it’s something that I’ll become accustomed to. Part of me wishes that I had never had the little bit of happiness that I did with Simon. It would have been so much better - so much easier - had he never kissed me. 

Two weeks makes the texts feel as if they never happened had they not remained saved on my phone. I can’t help but wonder what it is he’s doing, who he’s with, what he’s going to school for, where he’s training. My longing has gotten only worse with distance, I suppose it’s easier this way, at least the bitter sting of rejection isn’t outright. He doesn’t know how I feel because I’m so far from him. He can’t turn his back on me this way. 

Rome is only an hour ahead of London, so it makes communication with everyone back home that much easier. 

“I’ll walk you back home,” Alessandro says to me as we finish with our Magic Club that Friday. 

“How chivalrous,” I say. It’s difficult to be sarcastic in a language that’s not your native one, but I’m learning. I’ll be a master at it soon enough, and then everyone will get to enjoy me in all of my glory. 

Alessandro smiles and his dimples are entirely too charming. “You live above my favorite cafe, walking you is just an excuse.”

I laugh at this. He reminds me of Niall a lot of the time, calm and easy-going. Well-liked. I’m glad that he’s straight, it makes our interactions that much easier without my worrying about him catching any sort of feelings for me. Not to sound as if I’m bragging, but people tend to lust after me just because, and I can’t quite understand if it’s a vampire thing or if it’s just because of me. 

We talk about our classes and an upcoming football game that we’ve agreed to attend together. 

“Want to get some food with me?” Alessandro asks as we spy the bistro. 

“I suppose I could,” I shrug and then my phone buzzes in my pocket. It could be from anyone - classmates, Bunce, Fiona. It doesn’t stop me from hoping that it’s from Snow. I’m pathetic, he broke up with me, we haven’t spoken in a fortnight. Still, I hope. 

_ 13, September _

**Snow **[18:09]: How’s Rome?

_ Read 18:10 _

I freeze and Alessandro gives me a concerned look. Probably because I’ve stopped walking in the middle of the fucking pavement like a bloody numpty, staring down at a harmless text from my ex-boyfriend. Crowley, he’s my ex-boyfriend, why the fuck is he still texting me?

“Are you okay?” Alessandro asks me, he grabs my elbow and moves me out of the way of foot traffic. 

“I,” I say and sigh, “sorry, my ex just texted me.”

Which, I mean, is ridiculous. Simon and I were never friends, we were enemies and then lovers, there was no in-between. At the same time, he was my best friend, the one who truly knew me. I’m not against the idea of soulmates, and I’m quite certain that Simon Snow is my romantic soulmate. I’ll never have anyone else like him, no matter how hard I’ll try. 

“Why?” Alessandro asks, and then he shakes his head. “Come on, friend, we’re going to get something to eat and then we’re going to talk about this. You look like you need to talk to someone about this.”

Which is how I find myself sitting at a corner table with a roast beef sandwich and a cup of sweet coffee. I hadn’t planned on pouring my issues out onto Alessandro, I hardly know him. But it’s not as if I have anyone else I can speak to about it, not even Penelope. She’s more Simon’s friend than mine, and although she’d listen and be a good confidant, I just can’t bring myself to speak to her about it. She hasn’t pushed for it either, but Penelope isn’t one to fully understand emotions properly, she may be waiting for me to make the first move. 

Instead, I tell Alessandro all about Simon Snow. The Chosen One. The Humdrum. The most powerful mage to have ever walked the planet. The dragon-boy. The sun - my sun. My everything even though we are no longer together.

Alessandro listens thoughtfully while chewing on his food. Nodding and humming and allowing me to let it all out. Well, not all of it. Some details are left unsaid because they’re not his business. He gets the abridged version of it, which ends with Simon breaking up with me right before I left for Italy. 

“It all sounds so heavy,” Alessandro says after a beat of silence passes. 

During this time I take a bite of my food and sigh heavily into it. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was. 

“You’re still in love with him, yes?” Alessandro asks me, he’s running a hand through his unruly curls and he narrows his green eyes at me. “And he still loves you.”

“He’s never said that he’s felt that way about me,” I correct him. I still have doubts. He’s never - Simon’s never - said that he loved or loves me. That word was never uttered in my direction. 

“Love isn’t that easy,” Alessandro presses. “And he sounds like a man of action than words. He also sounds like a mess, like he’s going through too much. It’s better for you this way, being single. You can go out and meet people and live out your youth without worrying about him. He’s letting you go because he cares. The issue is that he still wants you, it’s obvious by the fact that he’s still messaging you.”

It sounds as if he let me go to ensure that I wouldn’t cheat on him. Not that I would. I could never. 

“I don’t know him, but it sounds like he’s trying not to hold you back,” Alessandro says. He’s fiddling with his mug of black coffee. “That, and he sounds like he needs to be alone, to sort himself out. It’s not about you.”

“It’s never about me,” I say, and I can’t help it. “It’s always been about him.”

Which I’ve never had an issue with. Simon is the center of my universe, I’d gladly let everything be about him. But then it makes me realize that I’ve lost my sense of self along the way in this relationship, and that’s not healthy. Some time away from him is helping me gather things into perspective. Maybe that’s the real issue, who am I without Simon at my side? I shouldn’t be feeling this lost without him. 

“Maybe this story should start being about you,” Alessandro says. 

“Should I text him back?” I ask because I’m an insecure idiot. I feel like a fool, allowing Simon to continue to string me along. 

Alessandro gives me a soft smile and it makes me want to punch him in his perfect jaw. “I have a better idea, to prove my theory.”

Which is how I wind up taking a ridiculous selfie with Alessandro using the dog filter on Instagram to add to my story. Along with the tag of the bistro underneath and the caption “dinner”. I tag him as well, even though his account is private. He immediately reposts it onto his feed.

“My girlfriend would appreciate that I’m making friends,” he says with an easy smile. “I will bet you a pizza that your boy will message you about that photo.”

Only thots use the dog filter, it’s entirely too silly for my liking, but I save the picture onto my camera roll regardless. Because I like it. Because Alessandro and I are friends and if I’m going to be here for a year I may as well make some memories. Because I plan on being one of those Gen Z kids who print out small photos of their friends and hang them up by a wire with clothespins and have it surrounded by fairy lights. 

I turn my phone off and then give Alessandro my undivided attention as he says that he’s planning a Halloween party and he wants it to be memorable. I don’t bother mentioning that it’s only September and that we have time because I’ve become enraptured by the ideas of Italian spells that could be used to spruce up the hall that the Magic Club has already rented. The entire student body will be invited, and costumes are a must. 

He’s discussing where the club is planning on catering the food and alcohol from and what else would be necessary. Apparently, the Magic Club throws a large party every year. It’s something that people look forward to attending and it’s spoken about for months after the fact. 

“This year we’re thinking of doing a Harry Potter them, with floating candles and everything,” Alessandro says excitedly. 

We speak for another hour before deciding it was best to part ways. Which was fine since I had two papers to work on and four chapters to read, and the entire weekend to do it. 

I forget about my phone until well after I’ve drunk some lamb’s blood and take a hot bath, I’ve read my chapters and am working on my first essay when I remember that it’s still off and it’s been on the charger since I’ve gotten back from dinner. 

I turn it on and wait for it to boot up, only to be welcomed with a handful of texts. 

**Dev **[19:00]: WHO’S THE NEW GUY?

**Bunce **[19:02]: Basil!

**Niall **[19:10]: Please answer Dev, he’s harassing me. 

**Bunce **[19:12]: What the fuck?

**Dev **[19:17]: BAZ!

**Dev **[19:22]: STOP BEING A DICK!

**Bunce **[20:00]: Who is your friend?

**Fiona **[20:14]: Your friend is cute. Good job, Boyo.

**Bunce **[20:23]: You’re allowed to date whomever you wish, but so soon?

**Niall **[20:23]: Hard sigh.

I roll my eyes at the ridiculousness of it all. Nothing from Simon, however, so it looks as if Alessandro will be buying me pizza. I sort through my messages and begin with Dev, who will be the easiest to placate and answer. 

**Baz **[21:09]: He’s just a friend.

**Dev **[21:09]: Where have you been? 

**Baz **[21:10]: I turned my phone off and have been doing homework.

**Dev **[21:11]: How boring.

**Baz **[21:12]: He’s a straight friend.

**Dev **[21:12]: Well good on you then, making friends. I didn’t know that you were capable, this makes me so proud of you, Basil.

_ Read 21:12 _

I roll my eyes at my cousin and sneer down at my phone before I leave his texts to answer Niall. 

**Baz **[21:12]: Dev has been answered. 

**Niall **[21:14]: Thank you.

**Niall **[21:15]: But I’m curious too, who is that bloke?

**Baz **[21:16]: A straight friend.

**Niall **[21:17]: Ask if he has a single, gay, friend.

_ Read 21:17 _

Why are my friends like this? I ignore Fiona entirely, there is no reason to respond to her. She’d be worse than Dev. She’d show up just to see Alessandro in person and not believe me when I’d tell her that he and I are just friends. Two men can’t be friends now? My being gay always has to be taken into consideration? It’s disgusting. I can’t tell if my family thinks that they’re being supportive or what. 

I stare at Bunce’s last text. Penelope is tenacious and if I don’t answer she might possess the old man who lives across the hall and speak through him. That would be interesting, and terrifying. 

**Baz **[21:21]: 1) You say that I can date whoever I wish, but then ask me if it’s too soon? 2) My romantic life truly is none of your business. 3) What does it matter to you?

**Bunce **[21:22]: Because!

**Bunce **[21:22]: I always thought that you and Simon would be it. That you two would be the happily ever after!

**Baz **[21:23]: Newsflash, we’ve broken up. I’m free to do whomever I want. 

**Bunce **[21:24]: I know! It’s just, I thought, I had hoped that you two would get back together. Text does not reflect my tone well, may I call you?

**Baz **[21:25]: No.

My phone buzzes in my hand and I send Penny to voicemail. What business is it of hers? She had been hoping that he and I would end up back together? Life doesn’t work that way, and who’s to say that I would take him back? I mean, I would, (I always would), but I’ve got to learn to respect myself before I even bother with Snow. 

I’m stewing in my anger when the urge to run takes place. A run would be an easy way to clear my mind. I used to run all the time back in Watford. I used to sneak onto the pitch late at night and dribble the ball into the net. Scoring one kick after another. I haven’t done that in years and I miss it. 

Instead, I change into joggers and trainers, throwing my hair up into a ponytail. It’s late, but it’s a Friday and I’m a mage and a vampire, I can handle whatever comes my way. 

I put my headphones in and turn my music on and leave the flat and just run. I run past campus and further still. I make sure to keep an eye on my surroundings to prevent myself from becoming lost. I run through a park and past young people laughing and talking loudly while heading toward a local pub. I miss Hampshire, the woods behind the manor, being strong enough to lift a tree from its trunks and out of the ground and throwing it has its perks when one is a moody teenager. I used to rip trees apart by hand and then take stacks inside to use as firewood. I can’t do that anymore. I run faster, but for me, it’s a leisure jog, because I’m a vampire and I could run at inhuman speeds. 

I do a loop and head back the way I came, barely breaking a sweat and barely needing to breathe. My endurance is wicked useful most days, but tonight it’s annoying. I wish I were winded and sweaty and drained. I’m not. 

My phone buzzes in my pocket and I ignore it. If it’s Penelope again I may answer and give her a piece of my mind. Who does she think she is? (One of my best friends, who am I kidding?)

I stop when I recognize my street, my heart is hardly thumping in my chest. I begin to walk back to the flat, at a fast pace to prevent blood from pooling in my legs and causing cramps. Although that would never happen, I’ve been conditioned by years of football. 

There’s an apology text from Bunce that I ignore in favor of the one Simon’s just sent. 

**Snow **[22:44]: Your friend is attractive. 

_ Read 22:50 _

Well fuck, looks like I’m buying pizza for Alessandro. Simon’s been online recently, he saw the photo, he commented. It’s not like him to act jealous. Although he did behave that way with Lamb, he couldn’t understand what I saw in Lamb. I couldn’t quite say either, it’s not as if I were attracted to him (though he is attractive). It was something different. A kinship that I’ve never felt before. I chalk it up to being a vampire. 

Is Simon jealous? He knows that he has no right to be. Although I do like it, I don’t think he’s ever really felt that way about me. It’s pleasing but confusing. We’re not together. We’re not a couple. This is a fact that I tell myself regularly.

He must have cringed as soon as he sent that. I know him well enough to know that he would have regretted it as soon as the words went out. He’s awkward like that, so endearingly awkward. I want to scream as I slip my phone back into my pocket and take my hair tie out to redo my hair up into a sloppy bun. Raking my fingers through my hair helps me think as I make my way back to my building

People are milling about, there are pubs and other bars just a few blocks away. A few of them stop to stare at me and I ignore the catcalls from some men and the whispers of some women as I let myself into my building and close the door firmly behind me. 

I’ll need another shower, and I suppose I could work on my paper again in the morning. My mind isn’t in the right space for it now. 

I take my phone out and stare at Simon’s messages. 

**Baz **[23:00]: Rome is fantastic.

**Snow **[23:00]: You’re doing well then?

**Baz **[23:01]: Of course.

**Baz **[23:03]: How are you?

Fuck, now I sound desperate. I hadn’t meant to ask him anything about himself, I never want to start the conversation with him. I don’t want him to think that I miss him. I miss him so fucking much. I think about him all the time, I can’t stop thinking about him, and worrying about him, and wondering what he’s been doing and who he’s been speaking to. He hasn’t been speaking to me, not really. I want to ask him why he’s been reaching out to me? Is what Alessandro says true?

Instead, I lean back on the overly plush sofa in the tiny living room and place my stockinged feet on the low coffee table before me, mindful not to kick my laptop. It’s Friday night, I should be out with friends. I’m sure I could have easily seduced any of those people outside who were staring at me earlier. I should be enjoying my youth, not texting a boy who probably doesn’t know why he’s texting me.

**Snow **[23:04]: Good! I’m going to school to be a bartender. It’s a 40 hour program, it’s fun so far. The people in my class are all charming and are teaching me how to be too since it’s part of the job and all.

I snort. As if he needs to be taught how to be charming. This is the most he’s said to me in weeks. And it’s all over text, not through his voice at all. I can’t remember the last time we had an actual conversation. Our break up doesn’t count, that wasn’t a discussion between us, it was more of an argument. Not even a heated one, just a tired one. 

**Baz **[23:09]: That’s nice, that you’re finding something that you enjoy doing.

I wince as soon as I send it. He’ll know that I mean that sincerely. He’ll see that there’s too much emotion in that sentence. Why am I doing this to myself? I’m a fucking masochist. 

**Snow **[23:10]: Yeah! Are classes going well for you?

**Baz **[23:11]: I’m a genius, Snow. Of course, they are.

**Snow **[23:11]: And you’re making new friends? Or was that photo of you and a total stranger?

**Baz **[23:12]: He’s a good friend. 

I don’t tell him that Alessandro is my only friend so far. The other people in the Magic Club are lovely, but they’re also wary of me. Alessandro is like their ambassador, and once he’s thoroughly vetted me and gives them the okay then I know they’ll begin to get closer to me. It’s only a matter of time. I don’t see the point in making close friends when I plan on leaving by next July. But having someone to speak to and hang out with on occasion will make me feel less lonely. 

**Snow **[23:12]: He looks like a model.

I can’t help the annoyance that simmers in my chest. I want to tell Snow to Stop being a coward and ask what he wants to ask.

**Baz **[23:13]: I’ll tell him that you said that. He’d appreciate the stroke to the ego. 

**Snow **[23:14]: Well they do say that attractive people attract other attractive people.

My heart nearly skips a beat. What? What game is he playing?

**Baz **[23:17]: You’re terrible at compliments. 

I turn my phone off for the remainder of the night.


	2. October, November, December & January

**OCTOBER**

**BAZ**

I can’t understand why he’s been messaging me, and I don’t know if I should put a stop to it or continue. I love talking to him, of being able to. This is the most we’ve spoken amicably in months. He’s not a distraction, or if he is one, it's a welcome one. I’m still on top of my studies, I still go to Magic Club, only now that has been including going out with a few members during the weekends. Taking photos and posting them online of us at parks or at restaurants or at museums. 

Alessandro’s girlfriend, Sophie, is a history major. We’ve gone to quite a few museums and I’ve enjoyed every minute of it. It’s been fun. One of the Magic Club members is a food connoisseur whose father owns a chain of restaurants, so they’ve been insisting on a new place every Friday to eat at. It’s been enjoyable, and it makes me miss home a little less. 

The only issue is that I have no fucking chill whatsoever. Simon has been texting me near daily, and I’ve been responding. Every fucking time.

_ 19 October _

**Snow **[11:56]: Dev is throwing a Halloween party. 

**Snow **[11:57]: I think I’m going to buy some horns and go as a devil.

**Snow **[11:58]: What are you going to be this year? Are you going to a party?

It’s Saturday and I’m meeting up with some classmates to work on a project that’s due next Wednesday. I’ve done my part of the presentation already, but we need photos still for our report. 

**Baz **[12:03]: The club that I’m a part of throws one every year. So yes, I’ll be attending a party. Everyone in the club is going as a witch.

I haven’t told him that I’m in a magical club. I don’t know if bringing up magic is safe around Simon yet. I could tell him, I should tell him, to hell with his feelings. But I can’t bring myself to, and besides, it’s not really any of his business. I try not to share too much of my life with him, but that’s becoming more and more difficult with each passing text. 

**Snow **[12:03]: Is that the group you’re always with? Are they part of your club?

**Baz **[12:06]: Yes. Alessandro is the president, I typically spend a majority of my time with him because he’s the most competent person there. 

**Snow **[12:07]: You must really like him if you’re giving him a compliment. 

_ Read 12:09 _

I stop texting him. I’m meeting with my group for the project anyway, and it’s not something I want to talk to him about. Instead of worrying about it, I turn my phone off and greet my classmates with a cool smile. I work on my project and we complete it within two hours. It gives me time to go back to the flat to put my things down, spruce myself up and perhaps take a nap before heading back out. 

I don’t bother responding to Simon’s text. In fact, I change his name in my phone to DO NOT RESPOND, it’s one step above blocking him. I can’t bring myself to block him. I can’t even bring myself to delete his number yet. I’m so weak for him.

* * *

“Halloween is on a Thursday this year,” Alessandro says to me with a frown on his face. He’s put his hair up into a topknot and he’s growing facial hair. It makes him look better than ever. I can understand what Sophie sees in him. 

“I plan on skipping my Friday classes if we wind up staying up late,” I say. It’s not as if I’ll miss much, I’m so far ahead and with such high scores that it wouldn’t affect me. It’s not as if I plan on drinking, not really, I don’t like drunks and I hate losing control of myself in any way. 

“That’s wise,” Alessandro nods. 

He’s taken me to a costume shop, the same one all of the members of the Magic Club come to pick up their costumes. It’s a simple get up, just a black cloak and a pointed black hat. I’m expected to wear black jeans, a black top, and black shoes. 

“You’d make a better vampire,” Alessandro jokes, “with your cheekbones and hairline.”

I make a show of rolling my eyes at him, “I’ve never heard that one before.” I make sure to sound as deadpanned as possible. 

“What?” Alessandro shrugs, but he’s smiling. “How are things with you and your friend?”

He never refers to Simon as my ex - which is what he is, Basil! I appreciate Alessandro for that. He doesn’t use the label, but he also doesn’t call him by name. Just says ‘friend’ as if that’s what Simon and I are. I suppose that’s what we are now? It’s tentative and I hate it. I don’t want to want it. 

“Fine, I suppose.”

I don’t tell him how Simon has begun to post on social media again. For the most part it’s just photos of food or books or random dogs he meets on the streets. Occasionally there will be a selfie, or a photo of Penny and Shepard. Sometimes there are photos of his work, the drinks that he drafts, the various people (whom I’m assuming are his friends because he’s always been well-liked and popular).

“Still texting you?” Alessandro asks while fiddling the ring on his pointer finger. It’s his magical instrument. He messes with it more than he ought to, I’m always worried that it’ll fall off one day and he’ll lose it. 

I nod. “Yes, almost daily. I don’t know what to do about it.”

“Stop texting back,” he says. As if it’s that simple, as if I can just easily not respond to whatever it is that Simons sends me. As if I don’t bask in his attention, even though it’s only through letters on a screen. “You’re an enabler.”

“Excuse me?” I ask him and give him a sharp look while putting a witches hat on my head. “I am not!”

“You’re a pushover,” Alessandro says. He’s chewing on his lip thoughtfully. “Have you tried not texting him?”

“No,” I answer honestly. “I don’t want him to stop talking to me.” I admit this in a small voice, softer than it has a right to come out. Insecurity laced throughout it and it makes me hate myself all the more. 

There are other patrons in the shop, but I forget about them. Instead I focus on the apparel before, as if costumes are the most interesting thing I’ll ever see. I take my phone out and take an artful photo of the rows of costumes, using a black and white filter before posting it. I’ve been updating my social media more often too, because I know he watches my feed. My father and the rest of my family does too, but I don’t care about that. 

“Basil,” Alessandro says, “you two broke up before the school year, yeah?”

“Late July, yes,” I say. 

“It’s been three months,” Alessandro says, “time to move on.”

He’s not wrong. I know that he’s not. I’m just not ready to do that yet. 

* * *

_ 23, October _

**DO NOT RESPOND** [13:01]: Look at this dog!

**DO NOT RESPOND** [13:01]: It’s grumpy face reminds me of you.

**DO NOT RESPOND** [13:02]: <jpg.>

**Baz** [13:05]: I’d drain that dog of all it’s blood just to spite you.

**DO NOT RESPOND** [13:06]: Wow. That’s cruel.

**Baz **[13:08]: I’ve never claimed to be nice.

**DO NOT RESPOND** [13:09]: True.

_ Read 13:21 _

* * *

_ 24, October _

**Bunce **[21:09]: Shepard and I are dating now.

**Baz **[21:10]: Really?

**Baz **[21:11]: I had higher expectations for you, Bunce.

**Bunce **[21:12]: Shut up. I really like him. 

**Baz **[21:12]: He makes you happy?

**Bunce **[21:13]: Surprisingly, yes. He’s so odd, he’s fascinating. I can’t figure him out.

**Baz **[21:14]: Is he a boyfriend or a puzzle?

**Bunce **[21:18]: He can’t be both?

**Baz **[21:19]: Is that healthy?

**Bunce **[21:20]: Because you’re the poster boy of health?

**Bunce **[21:11]: For the record, I meant for that to come across as playful. 

**Baz **[21:12]: No, you’re right. I’m fucked up. 

**Bunce **[21:13]: No pity parties tonight, Basil. I can only handle one depressed boy at a time, thanks. 

_ Read 21:15 _

* * *

_ 25, October _

**DO NOT RESPOND ** [09:48]: How’s this costume?

**DO NOT RESPOND** [10:01]: <jpg.>

_ Read 10:01 _

I almost drop my phone. It’s Friday and my class just dismissed early for the day and I’ve an hour to kill until my next lecture. The photo is of Simon, dressed as Dr. Who (of course), but I can’t help but wonder when was the last time he sent me a selfie was. (And didn’t he say he was going to be a devil?)

When was the last time he took a photo for me? This may not even be specifically for me, this was probably sent to Penny and Shepard and Agatha as well. I squash the warm affection that flooded through me at the sight of Simon. There’s no reason to feel that way, Basil. You’re such a bloody idiot. Still, he looks good. Healthier than he had prior to our trip to America. Better than he’s looked in months. He’s made changes in his life that are reflecting for the better. He looks like he’s been working out. Dropping out of university and dropping me have done him wonders. 

It’s a mirror selfie in a dressing room. His eyes are down at his phone, not looking at the camera, and half of his mouth is covered. His body is on full display.

He’s beautiful. It hurts to look at him, but I’m greedy and stare at the photo until it’s burned behind my eyelids. 

**Baz** [10:11]: Have you always been this big of a nerd?

Crowley, this is flirting. I’m flirting with him. I’ve been trying so hard to not do that, but it comes out before I even have a chance to second guess it. 

**DO NOT RESPOND **[10:11]: Being a nerd is sexy, thank you.

**DO NOT RESPOND **[10:12]: But seriously, how does it look?

**DO NOT RESPOND** [10:13]: <jpg.>

_ Read 10:13 _

The photo this time if of a side angle so I can see the curve of his ass in the form fitting trousers. My mouth wants to fill with my fangs, but I close my eyes and take in a deep breath. It’s no good to get aroused at school, or at all for that matter. I debate not responding, of just leaving him on read for the remainder of the day. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve removed myself from the middle of a text conversation with him. 

I worry my lower lip and stare at my phone screen until it goes black and then press the home button again. 

**Baz **[10:18]: Ask Wellbelove, she knows more about this than I do. I know nothing about the show. 

**Baz **[10:20]: Also, stop fishing for compliments from me. You’re not going to get them.

I’m an asshole and I don’t know how not to be one. I don’t know how to stop myself from being purposely unkind to him. That’s not true. I can be soft, I have been soft, but that didn’t work out well for me. He doesn’t respond to me and I’m glad of it, in a sadistic way. I hope that hurt him, I wanted to hurt him. 

My next class isn’t for another half an hour, but I make my way to the lecture hall anyway. May as well wait outside of the classroom. I can get ahead in my reading - as if I’m not already - and maybe work on other assignments while I wait. Half an hour is plenty of time. 

When class is over there’s a text waiting for me. 

**DO NOT RESPOND** [11:00]: We’re allowed to wear costumes for work this week. I figure being The Doctor would earn me good tips. 

_ Read 11:04 _

He’s already working? It shouldn’t be surprising, his program was only 40 hours. He didn’t tell me that he had a job already, that he’s bartending somewhere. It nettles at me, how little I truly know about his life now, how little he knows about mine. We chat quite a bit, but nothing is important. I’m not sure who’s at fault for that - probably both of us. To be fair he dumped me, so me not wanting to open up to him is rational. Still.

I suddenly feel insignificant. Small and unimportant. Very few people have the power to make me feel this way, and my ex-boyfriend shouldn’t be on the list of people who can.

* * *

The day of Halloween sees the Magic Club setting up the hall. I’ve my wand out and practicing simple Italian floating spells to wind the fake cobwebs on the ceiling. There are faux floating candles made of the cardboard part of a toilet paper roll and hot glue and paint. There are small battery operated tea candles inside, we use fishing wire on them and magic to get them hung from the beams above. 

“It’s too bad we can’t have the ceiling looking like the night sky,” Sophie says as she uses her wand to rearrange tables. 

It doesn’t take long for a group of mages to set up for a party. The food is set up and warming spells are kept on them, although I doubt many people will eat. I feel like the alcohol would be more popular. 

Dev sent me a selfie of his costume - a vampire (I think he was going for Dracula but I complimented on his Nosferatu imitation). Niall was David Bowie, with his single muddied blue eye and his red hair slicked back. The sight of them makes me feel hollow. I miss them. I’ll see them during the holidays. 

Everyone’s feed on Instagram has Halloween costumes and mentions of parties. Agatha Wellbelove posted a photo of her ugly dog dressed as a butterfly earlier. I refused to comment on it, but I did like it, because the dog is so ugly that it’s cute. 

I’m in fitted black trousers that are cropped at the ankle. I’ve black loafers and a black button-down shirt. My black cloak stops at mid-thigh and my hair is down to my shoulders with my black hat on top of my head. I’ve even allowed Sophie to put black eyeliner on me, it’s a sharp cat-eye that leaves all of the girls in our group muttering at the unfairness of it all. I know that I look good, even with the makeup. 

“Time to drink before the party starts,” a man named Miguel says while passing around black plastic cups. 

Pre-gaming before the party is not new to me. I’ve never partaken, but one drink couldn’t hurt me. 

There’s a handsome bloke next to me named Marco, whom I’ve only met tonight. He’s someone’s cousin. A mage. My height, but broader across the chest, with bronze hair kept short and dark brown eyes. His skin is a healthy caramel brown and he’s been eyeing me all evening as we’ve been setting up. I know that he’s been wanting to talk to me, but I haven’t even spared him a second glance. Or I’ve tried not to, it’s difficult when he smells like bacon butties. He makes me hungry.

I take a sniff of my beverage and nearly gag at how pungent the fruity smell of it is. 

Beside me, Marco _ does _gag, “Christ.” He swears like a Normal.

“What is it?” Alessandro asks before taking a tentative sip. He inhales a sharp breath of air afterward, “this is very strong!”

“It’s called Vampire Venom,” Miguel grins. “It’s a magical moonshine. There’s no real venom in it, but I heard there is fairy blood in it.”

“So we’re going to be high,” Sophie frowns. 

Most of the group has already drank from their cups. 

“Is this safe?” I ask. 

“Well, it won’t make you blind,” Marco says to me in English. He has a heavy accent but his voice reminds me of velvet, or dark chocolate. Smooth. “You don’t have to drink it if you don’t want to.” I hate how easy he smiles. 

I’ve never been one to cave into peer pressure. My uncle has Vampire Venom and I remember an episode where Dev got into it. He only had a shot and fell asleep promptly afterward. He woke up hungover the next morning, but there was no harm that occurred to him other than the fact that he ate an entire cake prior to sleep. 

I’m not a drinker, I haven’t drank anything since my going away party - but perhaps tonight I can pretend to be someone else. I down my cup in one gulp.

* * *

**NOVEMBER**

**BAZ**

I wake up disoriented, but in my flat, still fully dressed in my costume sans hat. My phone is buzzing, but I ignore it as fatigue washes over me. I think I’m still drunk. How did I get back to the flat last night? Things are a blur. There’s an empty blood container on my bedside table which makes me sneer. The room is too bright for my skin, but other than bone tired, I feel fine. 

I roll out of bed and groan as the world spins for a moment before it catches up. I didn’t even know that vampires could get hangovers. I strip my clothes off and pull out soft joggers and an old t-shirt that I think once belonged to Simon. No, it definitely belonged to him, it has the eleventh Doctor on it. I grab a pair of comfortable pants and fuzzy socks and stumble into my bathroom. 

My eyeliner is smudged and I have lipstick on my collarbone and there are bags under my eyes. But I don’t look too bad, and a shower is necessary. I don’t even know what time it is, not that it matters since I’ve already decided to skip classes. 

I scrub my skin and hair and try to wash off the fatigue. I need food and I need to shop for more blood since I drank triple my usual amount last night - or this morning? When the fuck did I get home?

By the time I’m dried off and redressed I look better. Maybe I should order takeaway and just hold myself up for the day. 

My phone is on the bed, fully charged, which is unusual. I pick it up and freeze. There are missed calls from Simon. Four missed calls. My body feels cold, why is he calling me? He never calls me, not even when we were dating. Instead of calling him back I decide to check my social media accounts. There are videos of me all over Instagram, dancing and making an ass out of myself. Harmless, but obnoxious. I’m singing to Britney Spears and grinding with Marco.

There’s a video on my feed of me looking at the camera and pointing at random blokes. “_Look at his costume! And look at his costume! Why are they so fit?_” I’m asking in slightly slurred English. The other people in the video are speaking Italian, talking about eating or drinking or how hot I am. I pay them no mind as I look at the camera again. “_Why am I so thirsty?_”

There’s another video of me singing to Alessandro, who’s laughing so hard that his face is red and he’s doubled over. Sophie is beside him, holding him up. 

There’s a video of us walking out of the party - our own fucking party - someone has given me a bottle of wine. There’s a photo of me drinking directly from the bottle while giving the camera the V, and then a short video of what looks to be me performing felacio on said bottle. Crowley, Merlin, fucking Morgana. _Fuck_. My family watches my feed!

There’s another video of the Marco, he’s grinning at the camera and asking me if I want to go home with him in his thickly accented English (which I enjoy the sound of too much), to which I snort and say “fuck no!” And someone off camera says - in Italian, thankfully - “can’t you see he’s mending a broken heart!”

I don’t dare watch other people’s stories. Mine was bad enough. I wish I could delete it but it’s nearly three in the afternoon, _everyone’s_ seen it by now. 

I groan and check my texts. There’s a group chat from people in the Magic Club, asking if everyone made it home safely. I respond that I did, and then people begin to respond to how crazy last night was and how fun it was. 

There are texts from Simon on my phone, which shouldn’t be too surprising. His own feed is of him dressed as the tenth Doctor and looking ridiculous with all of our friends and some people I don’t know. He obviously didn’t get sozzled, he remained sober all night. 

**DO NOT RESPOND** [12:33]: Please contact me as soon as you wake up.

_ Read 15:22 _

The thing is, I think I did something. I check through my texts and my Instagram messages but don’t see anything sent to him. Then I check my call-log and hope against hope that I wasn’t that stupid. Fuck. I called him, and apparently spoke to him at around two this morning. 

Oh Crowley. Oh no. 

What did we speak about? _ What did I say _? Is there a spell for memory loss? No, a spell of drunken blackouts? Probably not. I don’t know of any, but why would I? I don’t drink often enough to bother knowing it. 

My stomach clenches and I instead go online and order more takeaway than I should probably eat. Chinese food will arrive within the next forty minutes. I’ll respond after I eat, or so I tell myself. Only I know that Simon saw that I read his text, he’ll attempt to reach me _ again _because he’s the braver one out of the two of us.

My phone buzzes in my hand and a spike of irrational fear hits me, only to be squashed. 

**Marco **[15:32]: I had fun last night, we should hang out more often. 

It doesn’t help that Marco was the one who asked me to go home with him in the video, with his deep voice. I vaguely recall him speaking dirty in my ear as we danced together. Why did I save his number in my phone?

**Baz **[15:33]: Maybe.

Leave it ambiguous and hopefully he’ll let it lie. I’m not averse to getting off, although the idea of being with anyone other than Simon is terrifying. It’s not until I’ve received my food that I realize that perhaps I’m coming across as a tease. I don’t know if I like that or not. I don’t feel wholly comfortable with myself at the moment, and it’s been a long time since I’ve felt this way. 

I’m in the middle of eating beef lo mein when my phone rings. It’s Simon, and it’s a facetime call, and I don’t want to see him. Why does he want to see me? Is this an accident? Should I reject it? I swallow my food and with shaking fingers accept the call. 

Seeing Simon’s face over the phone is - my mind freezes. He’s beautiful, and in his bedroom still, wearing a black t-shirt. He’s had a haircut recently, but I knew that from the photos of yesterday. 

He smiles at me, “_hey, I didn’t think you’d answer _.”

His voice is deeper than I remember it being. My wifi connection is a bit shit, but it doesn’t freeze on me. There’s a spell to run internet smoother, I should use it soon. 

“I almost didn’t,” I say. My own face is in the corner so I can see that I look as tired as I feel. “Why are you facetiming me?” My brows are furrowed in confusion. 

“_I don’t, I just - _ ” Simon stammers and I hate him for it. “ _ I just wanted to see if you were okay, you look like you had quite the night _.”

My face burns and I’m glad that I’m incapable of blushing. But there’s also anger and confusion whirling around inside of me. Why did I answer the phone? Why do I always do this to myself? It’s been nearly four months and I still can’t deny him anything. Why? Why can’t I just stop with him?

“Yes,” I sneer, “as you can see I’m well. Is there anything else that you want?”

“_Uh, um _ ,” Simon worries his lower lip in a way that makes me want to bite him. “_Are you coming home for the holidays? _”

“That’s six weeks from now,” I say. “And even if I were, I’d be going to Oxford to see my family.”

“_What I mean is_,” Simon is running a hand through his curls. The video feed doesn’t do his freckles justice. “_I’m throwing a New Years Eve party, and if you’re in England I was, um, wondering if you would think about coming? _”

“You’re asking me this in October,” I point out.

“_It’s November_,” Simon says.

I roll my eyes but he smiles at me warmly. 

“I'll think about it,” I say. I won't think about it. I'll probably just go. And stand in a corner all night while watching Simon work the room like a creeper. “Is there anything else?”

At this his face flushes prettily. I want to lick him, I want to trace his jaw with my mouth, I want to suck on his Adam's apple. 

“Spit it out, Snow,” I say. It's only thanks to years of pretending to be unaffected by him that I manage to sound utterly bored.

“_I just_,” Simon looks away from me for a moment and swallows. It's as showy as it's always been, but I revel in watching it. “_I miss you too _.”

“What?” I ask, but it comes out soft. Barely a whisper. _ Too _?

Simon darts his gaze back to me and I'm stuck in the boring blue of his eyes. “_Last night you called me. I know you were drunk, it was obvious, but they say that drunk men are often honest. And out of everything you said, I think that's the truth. _”

“What did I say?” I can feel all the blood drain from my face. My fingers are trembling. _ What did I say _? Fuck. Why did no one take my phone from me? 

“_Nothing bad, _ ” Simon says but he's lying. I know that he's lying by his tone. “_Nothing that I didn't know. _”

_ Fuck_. 

“Fuck,” I groan. 

“_It's okay, Baz. You're only human, _ ” Simon says. His gaze is soft. “_But, I miss you too. I - Fuck. I'm shit with words, and I'm sorry - _”

“I have to go,” I say, my throat already closing up. I try to swallow the lump that is forming. “I can't do this.”

“_Baz - _” Simon's expression is pained. 

I end the call and drop my phone next to me, bringing my knees up toward my chest. I tuck my forehead against them and try to breathe. What the fuck did I say? Why did I call him?

My hands are still shaking when I text Fiona.

**Baz **[18:01]: Is there a spell that brings back memories of drunk blackouts?

**Fiona **[18:05]: No. 

**Fiona **[18:05]: You alright, Boyo?

_ Read 18:05 _

Fuck fuck fuck. 

I pull my hair back and tie it up. I can remember vague impressions. “I miss you” was obviously said. What else? _What else_? Based off of the videos I was drunk and horny. I'm still mortified that everyone saw that, but not anywhere near as badly embarrassed by the fact that I_ drunk dialed my ex-boyfriend._

I deep throated a fucking wine bottle. Crowley what if I told Simon how good the sex would have been with me? That won't be as bad as telling him that I still loved him. 

“Fuck,” I groan again. Fuck a nine-toed troll sideways. 

My phone buzzes and I already know that it's Simon. Because it's always Simon. I'm dreading checking it. 

**Alessandro **[18:10]: You doing okay today? Sophie says you got handsy with me when we took you home lol. I'm flattered!

**Baz **[18:11]: Fuck. I'm sorry. 

**Alessandro **[18:12]: Lol, it's okay. Are you feeling fine? Sick?

**Baz **[18:13]: Yes. But I'll be okay. How are you?

**Alessandro **[18:14]: Good! I feel great! Magic, it's useful, who knew?

_ Read 18:17 _

I sigh heavily. There's no use in trying to remember last night. Whatever happened, happened. Is it almost late enough to justify going to sleep?

I turn the heaters on in the flat, until it's almost unbearable.

My phone buzzes again. 

**DO NOT RESPOND** [18: 21]: You have my shirt.

_ Read 18:21. _

Why am I such a mess?

* * *

November goes on. Nothing too exciting. More club activities, more visits to restaurants and pubs. More socializing. Moreso then I did in London. It's easier to be someone else in a foreign country, easier to be more me than back home. There's no expectations here. No one breathing down my throat. No one watching my every move. I'm not the last heir to the house Pitch here, I'm just Baz.

Coursework is heavy but I appreciate it. Unlike my other classmates, I'm fortunate enough that I don't need to work. I'm kept on an allowance and my trust fund is being used for the flat. I'm allowed to focus strictly on my studies. 

Math is a universal language, and I do well. I don't expect myself to not do well. I'm one of the top of my class, despite being foreign. I get asked out on dates regularly, by both men and women, and it's confusing. Marco is the worst.

Marco doesn't attend school, he works at his family's bookshop but he stops by the Magic Club often. He's handsome, and funny in a sardonic way. And he's interested in me, but I'm not interested in him. I'm sure that if my heart didn't already belong to Simon I would be. I could picture it easily. And sometimes I fancy pretending that there could be something between us. It'll be an easy life, I'd have to lie about what I am, eventually he'd think I was cheating on him, we'd break up. 

No one in their right mind could accept that I'm a vampire. Not if they value their lives. Not if they don't want to be Turned. I'm not exactly trustworthy, based off the fact that I'm a dark creature alone. 

I try not to think of Simon in all of this. A deformed ex-mage with a shit ton of baggage. We still match, I'll never doubt that, we'll always match. 

I've been avoiding him. He still sends me at least three messages a day. He sees that I see them. He knows I'm purposely ignoring him. I'm such a shitty person, he had the right idea by ending whatever was left of our tattered relationship. 

“I brought you that coffee you like,” Marco says to me one afternoon. We're meeting everyone else to see another museum. I love these field trips. 

“Thank you,” I say, touched. It's freezing outside, I'm always cold but winter makes it worse. It makes me feel extra cold-blooded and less human than I already am. 

He smiles at me and a part of me wishes that I could feel something meaningful toward him. “No problem.”

There have been a few times where I’ve wanted to kiss him. Just to see what it’s like. Just to see if I’d enjoy it, to be able to say that I’ve tasted someone other than Simon. That someone else has touched me. And Marco always promises a good time.

As it is, he's been using me to practice English, but I don't mind. He's improving daily, and I enjoy helping him. 

“So, why won't you go out with me?” Marco asks me. Which is a bit out of the blue, but I suppose I should have expected it. He doesn't sound pushy, and he's not the sort to force himself on me in any way. But he is curious, as if there's no way I couldn't be interested in him. (He’s handsome, but he’s not _ that _handsome.)

“Why are you asking this?” I say instead of answering. 

Marco snorts into his drink before leveling me a stare with his too warm brown eyes, “because I know you are, what's the word? Uh...liking how I look?”

“You think I'm attracted to you?”

“I don't think it, I know it!” Marco nods and gestures to himself, “look at me.”

I don't look at him. I already know what I'll see. 

“You're ridiculous,” I say in Italian, and it's perfect. My lingual skills are polished to the point where you won't think my first language was something else. I pride myself on that. “And full of yourself.”

“Don't lie to my face, Basil,” Marco says. 

“I'm in love with someone else,” I say. And I don't know why I say it. It's something entirely too personal. But, again, I'm somewhere different. I can be more open without fearing as harsh of judgment. And it feels good to admit it. To say it aloud, letting the words hang in the air like the breath from my lungs is currently doing. 

“Ah!” Marco nods, “makes sense.” As if that would be the only reason why I refuse to date him.

I point out the rest of our group approaching us and he allows the subject to drop. Thankfully. 

* * *

_ 17, November _

**Baz **[16:27]: How have you been?

**Snow **[16:28]: Finally done ignoring me?

**Baz **[16:28]: Does it matter?

**Snow **[16:30]: What’s that mean?

**Baz **[16:31]: Why do you keep texting me? You broke up with me, did you forget that?

**Snow **[16:32]: We can't be friends?

**Baz **[16:35]: We've never been friends.

**Snow **[16:35]: We can't try?

**Baz **[16:37]: I don't think it's wise. 

**Snow ** [16:38]: _ typing typing typing… _

**Baz **[16:39]: You know I'm right.

**Snow **[16:41]: You’re my best friend!

**Baz **[16.45]. I hadn't realized my name was Penelope Bunce.

**Snow **[16:46]: You know what I mean!

**Baz **[16:46]: I don't.

* * *

**DECEMBER**

**BAZ**

_ 5, December _

**Bunce **[09:45]: Finals are coming.

**Baz **[09:46]: How much GOT have you been viewing?

**Bunce **[09:46]: I’ve read the books, thanks much. I’m sure you’ve been studying already in preparation. 

**Baz **[09:48]: Naturally.

**Bunce **[09:49]: I cannot wait until the holidays. Are you coming to our party?

**Baz **[09:52]: Perhaps.

**Bunce **[09:53]: A simple yes or no would suffice, Basil.

_ Read 09:58 _

Don’t eat, don’t sleep, it’s finals week. This is a mantra that’s reverberating throughout campus during the last weeks of December. I’m left locked up in my flat in joggers and an old sweatshirt with my hair up for several days on end. Surviving solely off of tea, blood, and cheese toasties.

I ignore all phone calls or texts with the exception of my family’s, they’re the only ones I’ll allow myself to take a break for. I play classical music and study, and revise, and study, and revise, and feel as if I’m drowning under waves of Italian words. 

I have six finals in two days and I want to hang myself when it’s all said and done. My grades are probably going to suffer, they’re going to reflect how poorly I did, they’re going to show that I can barely speak Italian and my words are going to be shoddy and I’ll have to fail out of school and find a job doing dirty work for the Coven like Fiona. 

The rational part of me understands how ridiculous I am, I’m a Pitch, I’m the best at whatever it is I do. My grades will be all top marks, but it doesn’t stop the anxiety from eating at me until the last test is done. We won’t be receiving our grades until sometime during the holidays. 

_ 19, December _

**Marco **[13:43]: Are you going to the party tomorrow?

The party the Magic Club is throwing for the end of term. A celebration before everyone makes their way home. 

**Baz **[13:45]: No, I’ll be on an aeroplane to England. 

**Marco **[13:46]: I’ll pine for you!

**Baz **[13:47]: You do that. 

The anxiety of finals took away from the fact that I had agreed to attend Simon Snow’s New Years Eve party, and then promptly haven’t spoken to him for the entire month. Not for his lack of trying, but I’m just tired. I love him, and keeping in constant contact with him keeps my emotions confused and hopeful. I can’t keep allowing myself to be hurt this way. 

I go to the airport with the clothes on my back and my passport, wallet, and ticket. There’s no need to pack anything when I have better clothes and products at home. 

My seat is in first-class and I lean heavily into it. It’s hardly a two hour flight back to London, and there’s no one in the seat beside me. I keep my earbuds in and listen to my strings playlist on Spotify. No one bothers me, only the flight attendant coming around and asking if I was interested in a beverage. I take an Earl Grey and find it adequate considering it was made on a plane. 

I shipped my family’s gifts to them at the end of November, so there’s nothing for me to stress about other than potentially seeing Simon again. I don’t know if I’ll go to his party, would he be surprised if I didn’t? Would he be disappointed?

Why does it matter to me?

* * *

_ 20, December _

**Baz **[15:09]: What time does your party start?

**Simon **[15:09]: Does this mean you’re coming?

**Baz **[15:10]: No.

**Simon **[15:10]: 10pm.

_ Read 15:11 _

Fiona is waiting for me in baggage claim, which is where the exits are. She’s got a large grin on her face as she hugs me and tussles my hair. 

“Looking good, Boyo!” She says while leading me out of the airport and towards the car park. 

It’s freezing cold outside and I'm glad that I placed warming spells on the inside of my heavy coat. I still secure my beanie further down onto my head and move my scarf high up my chin and huddle my hands into my pockets. Fuck, it’s so cold. I should go somewhere tropical for winter holiday in the future. The only downside to that would be the bloody sun. 

We get to Fiona’s car and I pause, “do I still have to sit in the backseat?”

Fiona barks a loud laugh, “no, I’m feeling generous today, climb into the front.”

I suppress a smile and do as I'm told, waiting impatiently for the car to turn on and for the heater to kick in. Once it does it’s so much more pleasant. I still wish it were warmer.

“So,” Fiona starts while getting us out of the airport and onto the highway to Oxford. “Where’d you learn to deep throat the way you did on that wine bottle?”

I close my eyes tightly and am glad that I can’t blush. I thought she had forgotten about seeing that, but she was just biding her time until she could do it in person. Because she’s truly the devil incarnate. 

“I knew you were going to school for an education,” I can hear Fiona’s salacious grin, “but I hadn’t realized that was a course offered in Italy. Or was that just good ol’ Watford learning?”

“Oh my God,” I groan, my gloved hands covering my face. 

“Swearing like a Normal too? Aleister Crowley,” Fiona’s laughing again and I’m wishing that the ground could just swallow me whole. 

Luckily Fiona is done tormenting me once we’ve reached the house. I practically throw myself out of the car and up the drive, taking my keys out and letting myself in before Fiona even unbuckles her seatbelt. Her laughter follows me. 

Vera is the first person I run into. 

“Master Basilton!” She chirps, her face breaking into a large grin. “Look at you!”

The warmth I feel toward Vera is incredible. I engulf her in a tight hug and allow myself to inhale her scent. She was my caretaker for such a large part of my life, especially after my mother died, I can’t imagine life without her. 

“It’s good to see you, Vera,” I say and accept the peck she plants on my cheek as we pull apart. 

“Goodness, but you seem to become more handsome every time I see you,” Vera smiles. “I’ll fetch your father, the children are in the library with your mother.”

The children are ecstatic to see me and I’m swarmed. Daphne gives me a kiss on the cheek and a warm hug. And I feel loved, I feel like I’m finally somewhere where people understand me a little better. My father even hugs me, which is unusual, but I accept it. 

“It’s good to see you, Basil,” father claps me on the shoulder, “how was your flight?”

“Good,” I answer as I follow him out of the library, much to the children’s protests. There would be time for them later, they’ll want to play, and Mordelia is learning more advance songs on the piano and wants to do a duet performance with me. It’s good, it’s warm, but I don’t feel a hundred percent at home, because I know there’s something missing. 

“Will we be expecting Mr. Snow this year?” My father asks me once we’re in his study. He’s pouring us both a glass of whiskey, although I refuse to do more than take a few sips. 

“No,” I answer, a little surprised he’s even asking. It’s true that I haven’t told anyone in my family about mine and Simon’s break up, but my father has always skirted around my queerdom. “I don’t believe so, although I will be at a party with him for the New Year.” Even though I shouldn’t go, I want to. I want to see him in person. I’m a bloody masochist. 

Father nods, “tell me how your studies are going, how were finals?”

I lean back in my leather chair and finally understand that this was my father’s way of spending time with me. I always felt that this was his way of keeping tabs on me, but no, he could find sneakier ways to do that. I smile at him and begin to tell him more about the Magic Club and how the mage network is in Rome.

* * *

Christmas Eve is a quiet affair, it always is. My family plays board games together and we eat dinner dressed in our best. The children and I play more games until it’s time for them to go to bed and my parents, aunt, and I drink together until we’re sure the little ones are asleep to bring the gifts out. 

Christmas is more for children than for adults, but I feel joy at my siblings excitement, and it’s nice. It’s lovely. Until Fiona hands her gift to me later, away from the eyes of the rest of my family, with a wicked grin on her face - the gay kama sutra.

* * *

_ 26, December _

**Dev **[13:02]: Oi, wanker, what’re you up to?

**Baz **[13:03]: Reading.

**Dev **[13:03]: Lame, come out with Niall and I. 

**Baz **[13:04]: Where to?

**Dev **[13:04]: Pub in London, I’ll drive. 

**Baz **[13:07]: Fine. When?

**Dev **[13:09]: I’m outside, soooo now.

**Baz **[13:10]: What the fuck, Dev? I’m not even dressed!

**Dev **[13:12]: The less posh you are, the better, trust me. I’m not looking to get robbed because of you. Vera’s letting me in right now, I’m coming upstairs.

_ Read 13:12 _

* * *

_ 27, December _

**Snow **[22:10]: You went to Howl’s yesterday? On my day off?

**Baz **[22:11]: What are you talking about? The pub?

**Snow **[22:12]: Yeah, I work there!

**Snow **[22:13]: Who was your tender? Was it Annie? 

**Snow **[22:14]: She’s got blond hair and green eyes? She’s really pretty? Was she your bartender?

_ Read 22:15 _

My heart plummets, I’ve always known that Snow fancied women, he dated Wellbelove for three years. Maybe him texting me really was just him attempting friendship. He’s not a liar, he’s always been shit at it. He always says what he means, and if Simon thinks of me as his best friend (or at least one of them) then that’s exactly what he thinks our relationship is.

Maybe it was him placating his own guilt over hurting me and I’ve just been reading into it too much because I was hoping that we’d end up back together. Because I don’t want to be his friend, I never wanted to be his friend.

**Snow **[22:17]: Please stop leaving me on read. 

_ Read 22:18 _

I sigh and put my phone onto the charger before bundling myself up to hunt. There won’t be much in the woods surrounding my home, maybe I’ll be lucky and find a rabbit or a deer. I haven’t hunted in months, and maybe it’s a vampire thing but I’ve missed it. I enjoy stalking prey and thralling them before drinking from them. It’s sick and predatorial and I shouldn’t have fun doing it - but I do. I think it’s part of the reason I enjoy playing football so much.

It’s nearly midnight by the time I get back into the house. I’m freezing despite the heating spells I cast on myself and I want to sink into a hot tub and soak to thaw myself out. I turn on the fire when I get into my bedroom and then fill the tub up with the hottest water that it has to offer, it steams the mirrors and leaves the air with a thick fog. 

On a whim I grab my phone before stripping nude. May as well check on what Snow may have sent me. I hate myself for this, for thinking of him first. I should be thinking about myself, and what I want to do while at home, and who I want to see, and how I want to spend my New Years Eve. 

I tie my hair up onto a knot at the top of my head and then sink into the tub, mindful of my phone. My texting in the bath used to drive Simon mad. Sure enough there are messages from him. Several at that. 

**Snow **[22:19]: Why do you keep doing this?

**Snow **[22:22]: I know we’re not dating, but I’m trying to be your friend, Baz.

**Snow **[22:23]: I wish things were easier for us. 

**Snow **[22:28]: I’m sorry.

_ Read 00:30 _

I sigh heavily. How do I even respond to this? Should I even respond to this? What’s the point?

I stare down at my bathwater. It’s black due to the charcoal bath bomb that I used, which turned the bubbles purple. The tub is large enough for me to soak comfortably, but I do what girls do and take my knees out of the water slightly (why do they do that?), my left knee has bubbles on it. I snap a photo and send it to him. 

**Baz **[00:32]: <jpg.>

**Snow **[00:37]: I hate you.

**Baz **[00:40]: Good.

I then place my phone on the bathroom floor and plunge myself underwater, to hell with wetting my hair. Maybe if I’m lucky I’ll drown.

* * *

_ 29, December _

**Bunce **[16:09]: WHAT THE FUCK, BASIL?

**Baz **[16:10]: What?

**Bunce **[16:13]: Simon has just informed me that you two have been talking this entire time? The entire time since you’ve broken up???

**Baz **[16:14]: I thought you knew, since the two of you have that no-secrets rule. Did he not say anything before?

**Bunce **[16:15]: No! I only found out because I saw him drafting a text for you.

**Baz **[16:17]: Okay.

**Bunce **[16:18]: I know that it’s none of my business. 

**Baz **[16:20]: At least you’ve realized that. 

**Bunce **[16:20]: But is this helping either of you move on?

_ Read 16:21 _

* * *

“You’re wearing _ that _?” Dev asks as he looks me over. He’s in pressed black slacks and a grey button up. “It’s New Years Eve, you’ve worn suits for as long as I’ve known you.”

My black trousers are expensive and perfectly tailored to my body and cropped at my ankles. I’ve black oxfords on. I’m also wearing a dark green button-up shirt with a simple black blazer over it. My hair is parted at the side, but left down in soft waves, and I have it tucked behind my ears. Nothing about me looks cheap, but it does say casual. More casual than my usual three-piece-suit during the holidays. I’m not even wearing a tie. I can’t bring myself to try too hard, and I know that I look fine the way I’m dressed now. 

“It’s just surprising,” Dev says. 

Niall is watching the entire exchange silently. He’s in a simple dark blue suit with a cream shirt, and brown shoes. In fact he looks similar to me, only not as posh. “It’s a party at Bunce and Snow’s, it’s not going to be overly fussed.”

Niall and I exchange as we watch Dev fiddle with his hair. It’s not as if he’s got much of it, he keeps it short and neat - unlike my own which is kissing my collarbones and beginning to spill over my shoulders. 

“Who are you trying to impress tonight?” I ask as I casually inspect my cuticles. There’s nothing wrong with them, my hands are perfectly manicured. 

“Annie,” Niall says, just as casually. “Why do you think he took us to that pub?”

I keep my face passive as I nod, “interesting.”

“Shut up, both of you,” Dev snaps, “it’s nearly time, let’s go.”

My English friends and my Italian friends follow different guidelines when it comes to being on time for events. I’ve learned while living in Rome that showing up exactly on time guarantees that no one else will be there yet. We still arrive nearly half an hour late, despite Dev’s best efforts to get us there exactly at ten.

**SIMON**

“Penny!” I hiss as Shepard answers the door and Dev and Niall walk in, followed by Baz. Baz! Fuck, he looks good. He looks better than good, he’s fucking breathtaking. 

Penny glances up at me, she was opening another bottle of wine in the kitchen and chattering with one of her classmates. “What?”

“Baz is here,” I whisper, my eyes flitting back to the foyer where Shepard is greeting the trio. The party is already in swing and the music is a little loud (Penny put silencing spells on the walls and floors so as not to disturb our neighbors.) People are well on their way to getting drunk, and the food is halfway gone. It’s a good party so far, but it’s better now. At least, I hope it’s better now.

She’s looking at the same direction as me and hands me the bottle of wine that she’s still uncorking before stepping out of the kitchen and yelling over the din of noise. “Basilton Grimm-Pitch!”

Her voice causes other people to stop and pay attention to her. Penny doesn’t mind, instead she beams at Baz with her hands on her hips as she approaches him.

“Penelope Bunce!” Baz grins sharply as she throws herself at him joyously. 

I wish I could do that, I wish I could hug him. But I if I touch Baz, I may not stop. He looks good, he looks more than good. Italy has been good for him, being away from _ me _has been good for him.

Baz looks over Penny’s head and catches me staring at him just as I pop the cork off of the wine. I want to smile at him, but I can’t. I can feel my face flushing, from the top of my forehead down toward my chest. My ears on bloody fire. Green has always been Baz’s color. I’m wearing a black button-up and black slacks (basically my work uniform), and I've red canvas shoes on my feet. 

I don’t know how long we stare at each other. Probably longer than what’s deemed appropriate. His hair is falling along his jaw softly and I just - I can’t keep looking at him. He’ll know how much I want him. How much I’ve always wanted him. How much I’ve fucking missed him. Baz being in the same room as me hurts me in the worst and best way.

He glances away first when Penny begins to introduce him to people around the room. 

“Who’s the hottie?” Annie, my coworker, asks as she leans on the kitchen counter to watch Baz make his rounds. 

“My ex-boyfriend,” I say to her in a sharper tone than I intended to use. 

She raises both eyebrows at me, “damn, really?”

It’s because he’s so handsome and I’m so ordinary. 

“Yeah,” I say before pouring myself a cup of wine and drinking half of it in one swallow.

  
  


**BAZ**

It’s nearly midnight and I’m hiding in Simon’s bedroom - not intentionally, but Bunce’s room has all the coats and I don’t want anyone to find me. I’m staring out of the window at the snowfall. I’m here because the last thing I want to see is someone grab Simon and kiss him as the clock strikes twelve. 

His room is clean, and it smells like him. I’m at his desk, ignoring the photo of us at my Leavers Ball that’s taped to the wall. Beside it is one of him, Agatha, and Penny. I try not to give it much thought. 

The room door opens and Simon topples in, he leans against it and sighs and then freezes when he realizes I’m sitting there in the dark. 

“What are you doing in here?” He asks, though his heart rate has increased. We’ve done a spectacular job at avoiding each other for over an hour. Staying at opposite sides of the room at all times. 

There are people laughing on the other side of the door. Simon locks it. 

“I needed a moment,” I answer. 

“Me too,” Simon says, “it’s overwhelming out there.”

_Aren’t you a bartender?_ I want to ask. But I suppose there’s a difference between working an event and hosting.

I watch as he takes a seat at the end of his bed. I turn his chair so that we’re facing each other, our knees are almost touching. I can feel his body warmth from here, and his scent is stronger than what was lingering in the room without him. I want to cocoon myself in it, in him, I never want to leave the room. 

“What time is it?” I ask him, I don’t feel like taking my phone out to check.

“Near midnight,” Simon says. “How have you been? You look good.” He then presses his lips together tightly. He’s feeling awkward. 

“I’ve been well, how are you?” I ask, because I can do polite conversation. 

Simon shrugs, “better now.”

Does he mean now as in literally at this moment? Being here in his room together? Or does he mean in general? He’s doing well, at least it seems that way. Penny said to me a few weeks ago that he’s back in therapy. I’m happy for him, as happy as I could be at least. 

“I’m glad that you’re here,” Simon says, his voice low. If not for my hearing abilities the background noise of the party may have drowned him out. “It’s been good to see you.”

“Even though we haven’t spoken a word to each other the whole night?” I ask, because I can’t help but pick at him, like he’s an old scab that I want to make bleed. 

Simon shrugs again, “that doesn’t matter, because you’re here. I can - I get to see you. In person.”

Fuck. 

Him being so close to me is intoxicating. Why did I agree to come to this daft party? His warm palm is resting on my knee as he leans forward, more into my space. I can vaguely register the fact that everyone outside of this room is counting down from ten. 

“Baz,” Simon says, he smells faintly of cheap wine. His hand is on my knee. “I know - I just - it’s -” He’s stuttering helplessly. I can hear his blood rushing, his words are caught in his throat, he’s never been articulate to begin with. 

My own nerves are on end. He’s so close. I can practically taste him on the back of my tongue. Heavy and lovely and making my skull ache. It’s almost like gravity, how we always seem to revolve around one another, how we always seem to crash into each other.

Now he has both of his hands on both of my knees. The heat is seeping into my thighs and causing goosebumps to spread throughout my body. He’s so close, I feel as if I may be burned. I will get burned. He’s going to light me on fire.

“Simon,” I nearly whine. And then I’m grabbing his face between both of my palms, and I’m kissing him. His mouth is pliant under mine, and he tastes of wine, of buttery popcorn and toffee and all good things. All sweet things. All things Simon. My world is narrowed into this moment, his hot tongue against mine, his wide palms spreading on my waist, his fingers curling underneath my suit jacket. 

I kiss him and kiss him and kiss him. And outside of our sanctuary people are shouting and singing and wishing each other a Happy New Year.

* * *

**JANUARY **

**SIMON**

I groan into Baz’s mouth, and he’s moaning into mine and we’re close, but we could be closer. We should be closer. Kissing Baz feels like everything right in the world. Being with him this way, touching him. I want to never stop. It’s good, it’s so good, it’s always so good. 

_ I love you_, I try to tell him as we move against each other. _ I’ve missed you. I’m sorry. Please be mine again. Please take me back. _

His fingers are in my hair, tugging at my curls and I moan as our tongues intertwine and touch. His mouth is cool, but it works against my own excess heat. 

When Baz pulls away from me he kisses my cheeks, my eyelids, my jawline, he forces my head back and kisses down my throat. He presses a sharp kiss near my Adam’s apple and my breath stutters as he sucks on the skin there hard enough that I know it’s going to leave a mark. He’s licking at the column of my throat and I should be worried, I should wonder if he’s fed today, but instead I can’t stop the strangled noise that escapes me. He’s worrying the skin between his teeth and my hands are running up and down his thighs.

Aleister Crowley. I can’t even remember the last time we kissed. Maybe over six months ago? The last time I had my hands on him was over the summer. Why would I let him go? Why haven’t I asked - begged - for him to take me back? It’s because I know that I don’t deserve someone as good as Baz. 

We kiss again, and again, and again. We kiss until we hear guests begin to leave. We kiss as we hear our friends looking for us. He’s in my lap and my hands are roaming his back and his bum and his strong thighs again. 

When Baz finally pulls back, he rests his forehead against mine and I just breathe him in. His cologne is heady and intoxicating. I burrow my face in the crook of his neck and just hold him to me. Hold him as tightly as I can, get him as close as possible. He’s clutching onto me as well, one strong hand on my back and the other on the nape of my neck, long fingers underneath the collar of my shirt. 

I don’t realize I’m crying until I begin to hiccup. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. 

Baz is petting my hair. I don’t think he understands what I’m apologizing for. I don’t think he knows what I mean at all. I barely can say it. 

“It’s alright, this won’t happen again,” Baz assures quietly. 

I shake my head, “no! No. That’s not why - Baz, no.” I can’t pull myself away from hiding my face. I don’t want him to see me right now, not like this. _ I love you _. “I’m - I’m sorry for being so shitty to you. You deserve so much better.”

“Simon,” Baz sighs. He’s gently pushing me away from him and cupping my face with his hands. He’s wiping my tears away with his thumbs. I’ve always loved his hands, his fire holders hands calloused from flames and from the violin. His mouth is kiss swollen, but all it does is enhance his face. 

“I just -” I’m trying to blink quickly enough to prevent the tears from falling, but they do either way. Because I’m a mess, I’m such a fucking mess. And I’m nowhere near getting better, and I’ll never be good enough for him. My voice is a broken whisper, “I - I just -”

“You don’t have to say anything,” Baz coos, still cleaning my face of tears. 

“But I do,” my voice is a strangled whisper as I talk around the lump in my throat. My breathing is shaky and I’m terrified. He’ll reject me, he probably hates me. He probably thinks that I’m fucking around on him. “I do have to say this, please let me say this.”

He nods and I sniffle pathetically. Because that’s what I am, pathetic. 

“Pen - Penny is my sister, but you’re my best friend,” I rasp, “you’re my best friend.”

“Would it be easier if I get off of you?” Baz asks cautiously. 

I only hold onto him tighter and shake my head as I summon my words. The flat is beginning to sound empty, there are fewer voices, and I have to wonder about what time it is. How long have we been in there? In our own little piece of the universe?

“I’m sorry, for all - for everything - that I put you through. You - you didn’t deserve that,” I close my eyes tightly and am grateful when he starts to sooth my hair off of my forehead. He always knows what to do for me. “I’m so proud of you, Baz. You got into that program, and I - I - I couldn’t be happy for you, because - because I felt like I was losing you. But, it was my own fault.”

“Simon.”

“I’m not done,” I say, my jaw juts out on its own accord as I peer up at him. My legs are beginning to go numb, but I’ll be damned if I let him go. My hands tighten their grip on his hips. “You’re - you’re just - you’re so wonderful. And I’m - I’m shit at everything. I’m such shit at everything. You were always - you’ve always - been too good for me. I’m so - too - fucked up.”

He’s watching me, his jaw flexing as he holds his words back. And I’m grateful that he’s giving me this chance to speak. Giving me this chance to just be with him, intimate like this, at least one last time. I’ll never have anyone else as wonderful as him. There is no one else like Baz. 

“And I know I ended things, because - because - because I’m no good for you. Not the way I am now, and I may never be good again. I may always be like this,” I’m sniffling again and I can feel a fresh wave of tears pooling at the corners of my eyes. I can feel the heat of them in my nose and threatening to fall again. “But, you should know that - that I love you. That I’ll always love you. That - that -”

I don’t get to finish what I’m saying, because he’s kissing me again. 

  
  


**BAZ**

_ You should know that I love you. _

Fuck. Everything else he said is catching up as well. He doesn’t think he’s good enough for me, he doesn’t think he deserves me, he doesn’t know if he’ll ever get better, he’ll always love me. 

I pull away from him with a gasp, and blink my watery eyes hard. “You love me?”

“Yeah,” Simon whispers, as if it’s a great secret. Perhaps it is, it’s probably something that he’s held close to his chest for months. Maybe years. Maybe he’s been in love with me almost as long as I’ve been in love with him and we’re both such shit at communication and too scared of our own emotions to properly put it out there. “I’ve known that I’ve loved you for a while now.”

“A while?” I repeat, my voice high and breaking at the end. I feel hysterical. 

I can hear Penny and Dev talking to each other from the other side of the flat, both lamenting on how they think Simon and I are shagging and have finally made up. As if our break up was only a row - a bad row. I can hear Niall and Shepard making small talk as Niall begins to mutter cleaning spells. I suppose the party is over now. 

“We so bad at this,” I say, but I’m still running my fingers through Simon’s curls. They’re fucked, so there’s no need to try to make them look presentable anymore. “I love you too, you know.”

Simon looks as if he wants to cry again. “I didn’t.”

“That’s because you’re oblivious,” I sigh, but I don’t stop touching him. 

Simon nods, “that’s fair.”

Where does this leave us? Are we still broken up? Are we going to get back together? I don’t know if us being together is wise, and I don’t know how to tell that to Simon. But being apart has hurt me in ways I didn’t think that it could. 

“My therapist says that I have intimacy issues,” Simon says after a moment, “and - and - and low self-esteem.”

“You don’t say,” I’m running my fingers over his eyebrows just to watch his eyelids flutter shut. 

“Don’t be a dick,” he sighs. 

I hum and stop, resting my hands on his shoulders, “I’m a vampire.”

Simon snorts, “I had no idea.”

I stand up then, because his legs are no doubt asleep by now. I run my fingers through my hair and then tuck it behind my ears. My mind is racing and I’m trying to slow it down. “We still both have so much growing up to do.”

Simon nods and licks his lips. He stand son wobbly legs and stretches his body in a way that’s enticing for me. “Can we try to be friends?”

“No,” I answer. 

“Because we’re more than that?” Simon asks, “I suppose you’re right. We’ve never been friends. We’d be tits at that as well.”

“Truce?” I ask him cautiously. 

“No,” Simon is tugging at his hair and letting out a hard sigh. “No. I can’t. I love you. I’ve never felt this way about anyone before, and I - I don’t know what to do about it. Do you - would you - no, never mind. It’s stupid.”

“Simon,” I sigh and there’s a knocking on the bedroom door. 

“You two better come out soon! Baz, we’re leaving!” Dev says, “unless you’re staying the night!”

“Give me a minute!” I say back in a tone that tells him not to fuck with me. I turn back to Simon, who’s pacing the small floor space of his bedroom. I’m sure if he still had his magic he’d be overflowing with it and the place would be filled with green smoke. I want to reach out and touch him, but I fear that my spontaneously kissing him may have been pushing boundaries. Despite him kissing me back. 

Simon Snow loves me. Me. He says that he’s never felt this way about anyone before. Me. 

“You’re leaving for school again soon, right?” Simon asks. 

“Yes, I won’t be back home until the end of June,” I say. 

“I’m not going to ask you to, like, not see other people or - or - uh,” he’s stammering again, and it’s stupidly endearing. 

I hate that my heart warms at the sound of it. At the sight of it. It’s dark in his bedroom, but the streetlights are all that I need in order to see him near perfectly. He’s worrying his lip and tugging on his hair and I want to reach out and grab him and pull him into my arms. But I don’t. After months of trying to get over him, I can’t allow myself to take advantage of whatever situation this is between us, just in case he decides he’s taking it all back again. 

Simon clears his throat, “but I won’t be. Seeing other people, that is. I’m not saying that to make you feel guilty or to prevent you or -”

“I get it, Snow,” I sigh. “I’m not seeing anyone, I haven’t met anything who catches my eye. Not in Rome, anyway.”

Simon swallows, “but you could.”

“So could you,” I point out. This conversation is going nowhere. Nothing’s changed, nothing is going to be different between us. We love each other, but we’re awful at this. This thing between us it too much for either of us. Too intense. “I should go, before Dev leaves me.”

“Oh,” Simon says. He wants to say more, he has a tell when words are stuck in his throat. Instead he nods and leads the way out of the bedroom, but stops before he opens the door. “Would it be alright to keep texting and calling you?”

“I -” I pause and think for a moment, “yes.”

He nods again and asks, “is it - is it alright if I kiss you?”

My heart leaps in my throat and this time I nod. “Yes.”

And then he does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> The soundtrack to this fic can be found **[here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/69ge8mjc6IiYKQWaqbikRh)**!.
> 
> Come say hi to me on **[tumblr](https://moonllotus.tumblr.com/)**!


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